Enslaved by Victory
by darkmarkgirl
Summary: AU of book five. Not a slash story. After Harry's friends are cornered by Death Eaters, Harry is whisked away to Death Eater headquarters. Two years later when Hogwarts is conquered, Voldemort has a new slave, and his name is Harry…
1. Imprisoned

** Enslaved by Victory**

Author: darkmarkgirl

Information: I really enjoy slave fics so I thought I might try my hand at one. This may be edited, I am going to work on the second chapter this week. If you enjoy the story or have any suggestions, please review. This chapter is unbetaed. If you are interested in betaing this story, please contact me. I am only interested in people proficient in the English language and who have experience.

Summary:

AU as of book five. After Harry's friends are cornered by Death Eaters, Harry is whisked away to Death Eater headquarters. Two years later when Hogwarts is conquered, Voldemort's slave shows up with the name of Harry…

Chapter 1: Imprisoned

_Pettigrew stopped, a smile cracking his lips. "It is a special ceremony for the Dark Lord." Yaxley laughed and sneered at Harry, his demonic eyes glistening. Harry's stomach twisted. "Oh yes it is," he laughed. "I'm very sure he will enjoy it."_

* * *

They hadn't broken him yet.

That was a small pride considering the amount of pain he was in. Harry rolled onto his back coughing up blood, soaking the remainder of his t-shirt with the salty substance. Ignoring the blood splattered amongst the stone wall of his cell he sat up. The room swam before him but he could see the window a few feet from the door and the sun had risen. Mentally, Harry groaned. Nothing could possibly ruin a sunny morning but his morning 'session.'

He sat up further and his head swam, turning the bleak cell around him into a whirlpool of stone. His own stink was making him nauseous and only the prospect of food prevented him from lying down again.

Harry thought he could smell the slop that they usually gave him, and his nose perked. _Pathetic, _Harry thought. _Looking forward to a load of rubbish for breakfast. _Nevertheless, he forcibly straightened himself and waited for his meal.

He was answered moments later by a bowl thrust into the door of his cell. A quick sniff told him that it was same boring old slop made from pork rinds or something equally disgusting but he slurped it down the way a pig would eat his slop, and settled restfully on his back. The food had given him strength and now the window before him shone more blissfully with light, brightening the dank interior of his cell.

Remembering the promise he had made himself the other night, Harry made himself pick up the rusty nail he had hidden in the corner and started picking at the lock to his chains. It was a futile effort and he knew it. Voldemort had taken no leisure in fastening Harry to the wall securely, and he knew he had his numerous escapes to thank. Even over the past few weeks he had picked, he had gotten no further than a dent and although Harry hated to admit it, it would be years before the lock would even be thawed halfway. Resisting the urge to chuck the thing into the corner he continued, relentlessly plowing away at his only hope of escape.

Harry had hoped and mentally begged for someone to rescue him, even attempt at doing so. He knew his hopes were worthless, knew that Voldemort was the secret-keeper of the place and knew that even if the Order managed to penetrate it they were outnumbered by thirty to one. Still, that didn't stop him from jerking his head around every time a Muggle walked by the small window usually chucking rocks or making rancorous jokes at each other.

Harry signed and shifted his position slightly, staring at the wall. He wasn't sure what was worse, being stuck in a tiny cell waiting for Voldemort's followers to torture him, or being alone. Never before had Harry been struck with such a dire feeling of loneliness. He had never realized how much he prized his friend's company and now Ron and Hermione were off somewhere unknown. Harry would gladly accept them bickering throughout the day. Nothing was worse than this cold cell where the only company he got was his torturers. He missed regular company so much that it gave him a constant stomachache. It made him slightly sick to think that he would appreciate one of his friends being here with him even if it meant they were captured.

On the bright side, being alone let him think. Harry had spent many hours sitting by himself thinking, trying to ignore the throbbing pains all over his body. It distracted him, gave him a light of hope in the dark future. He thought of Snape, who had loved his mother. He wondered about Dumbledore, who cared so much about his safety but had let him go to waste. Harry remembered Luna who was always bright and perky. She would probably have driven him insane if she was here with him, lecturing him on how nargels were good escape agents. He cracked a smile. It was worn and his lips were chapped, stretching the skin into a painful position. The pain in his lips made him long for Mrs. Weasley's homemade soup, and the sorrow in his heart thickened.

* * *

Footsteps echoed in the above corridor and Harry braced himself, tensing. The last session had left him choking in his own pain and he was not looking forward to repeating the experience. He had long given up laughing in the faces of his tormentors. They would only torture him more. He knew privately that he could not survive much longer under these conditions.

A sudden movement made Harry jolt and he stared into the face before him. It was a different face than the sneering hopeful ones of Lestrange, Mulciber or one of the other nasty Death Eaters, but one he recognized quite well.

Despite the pain he was in hatred bubbled to the surface and he felt an urge to lunge at the man. Fat-faced, rat-eyed and with a head covered in tuft sandy hair Pettigrew stood before him. His back was its usual hunch and his face was covered with disgusting debris. He had a strangely determined glint in his eye.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice raspy. There was a slight tremor in his voice that he could not hide. Pettigrew stared at him, shock exposing the strange features on his face. With a small movement of his head Pettigrew unlocked the door and with one wave of his wand, unlocked the chains that bound Harry to the wall. Harry stared at him, confounded. In all his months or weeks here, Harry had never been allowed out of his chains.

"The Dark Lord has requested you," he said. When Harry merely stared at him, Pettigrew waved his wand and levitated Harry into the air, and then guiding him out of the cell, started up the stairs.

As he neared the top a fresh burst of air hit him. Had he not been so injured, he would have jumped for joy. The upstairs hallway was filled with a sweet tangy air that he had not smelled for a long time. Instead he lay under the invisible cushion of air that supported him and enjoyed the luscious smell of the castle hallways.

As they neared the end of the hallway they passed a Death Eater Harry knew as Yaxley. Pettigrew stopped and faced him, his beady eyes narrowed. Harry could see him tense.

"Pettigrew!" Yaxley said with his waxy face flushed with elation. His narrow lips broadened into a nasty smile. "They are bringing him then, are they not?"

Pettigrew stopped, a smile cracking his lips. "Yes they are," he said, speaking through his nose. "It is a special ceremony for the Dark Lord."

Yaxley laughed and sneered at Harry, his demonic eyes glistening. Harry's stomach twisted. "Oh yes it is," he laughed. "I'm very sure he will enjoy it."

Pettigrew's eyes hardened and he swept past Yaxley. As he lay there Harry watched Yaxley's figure disappear, and he felt a horrific feeling of dread.

* * *

Harry was rather shocked when Pettigrew lead him to a washroom. It had been a long time since he saw a place so clean and pristine, its mirrors shining and the pearl bathtub filled with bubbles. In his amazement, he did not notice Pettigrew drop him to the carpet and push him into a corner. He did not even have time to feel humiliation for the way he laid pathetically on the carpet.

"You will bathe in here," he said, his eyes narrowed at Harry. "First, a Healer will heal your injuries."

He scarcely had time to wonder why a Healer was there at all when a female Death Eater he did not know took his hand and began muttering incantations with his wand. Gradually, the pain dissipated. Harry let out a long hiss as she prodded his arm with her wand, healing the fractured bone. The woman did not look up at him but continued with her work as normal.

Harry closed his eyes. As strange as this was he knew he must enjoy it. The pain was disappearing wonderfully. Strength flooded his veins, making him feel whole. Finally, the Healer looked up.

"You are satisfactory," she said in a scratchy voice. He looked up, wondering who she was but she pushed his head down and ordered, "Strip and get in."

Not thinking to disobey, especially when something good was finally happening to him, Harry stripped down and stepped tentatively into the tub. At first his newly healed bones screamed in protest. As he settled into the water, the pain gradually soothed. Harry looked up and noticed the Healer was watching him. She had an oval face, dark plaited hair and a hard look in her gray eyes. With a sinking feeling he noticed that she too bore the robes of a Death Eater.

"You will want to scrub off all that filth," she said, pretending to take no notice of his observations. "Ask if you need assistance."

Harry mumbled and turned away, his face slightly flushed. He did not like the idea of a Death Eater scrubbing him down, much less a woman.

After scrubbing the stains that adorned his body with much difficulty he settled into the bubbles, closing his eyes. For once, the fear that usually held him had seeped away. Even the fear of what would happen to him at the 'ceremony' felt insignificant. Harry closed his eyes and let himself relax.

Moments later he was helped out of the bathtub and into a plain set of black robes. His hair was dried and shoes were placed on his feet and then he was lead down the dark corridor. Harry's head was pounding. The suddenness of the movement had made him weak. Head spinning, Harry swayed and was caught by the two Death Eaters on either side of him.

"Not going to escape, this one," one said in a dark voice. He could barely make out what they were saying. "I don't think we'll have any worries."

"He'll be fine soon enough," said a woman with a snicker, and with a jolt Harry recognized her as Bellatrix. "The Dark Lord has many plans for this little boy." Harry felt a hand under his chin and her pointed face was brought into view. She laughed and dropped his head, letting it swing unsupported. He could not bring up the energy to hate her while he was so afraid and tired.

Silently they dragged him on to his impending fate. The candles on either side of him went out as they passed, as if telling him to go back, but there was no going back.

* * *

Voldemort knew he was the victor.

It had only been a matter of time, and now he had both Hogwarts and of the Boy Who Lived in his palm. He had to admit winning over Hogwarts had not been easy, the Muggle Lover had seen to that.

But now Dumbledore had fled, and the students were trapped.

The school, the students his to control…

A smirk darkened his perversely evil face as he petted Nagini.

_My Lord…_she hissed.

_Yes?_

_I see the boy, and he is weak. All is going according to what you have planned._

Voldemort's smile widened. _I hope he will strengthen shortly, _he hissed. The Death Eaters surrounding him winced, and he drilled through their fear with his snake like eyes. Several looked away. _It will not be as fun if he is weak. _

_You speak clearly, Master. Make your enemies suffer, and their friends worse._

Fondly he petted Nagini, and then there was a knock on the door.

His eyes lit up with a hypnotizing, crazy light. A devil emitted from him as he stood up with fervor, awaiting his prize. His Death Eaters grew excited, tensing.

"Come in."

Two of his most loyal Death Eaters marched in. In their arms was the weak body of Harry Potter.

* * *

Through his clouded eyes, Harry knew all was lost.

Voldemort's eyes danced with an excitement that Harry had never seen before. The sick cruelty that was in his eyes was undoubtly meant for him.

For a moment, he wished he was back in the cell.

It was then that Harry realized that he was wrong.

Voldemort had truly broken him.

He may have not lost his mind, but the thought of going back to his cell was enough to break his spirit. Voldemort's lair was his life now and all hope, all thought of his friends was only memory. Nothing could save him from this life which was an endless pit of despair.

Harry breathed quickly, trying to regain the last of his sanity. No matter how bad his situation was, he couldn't accept that Voldemort had truly won over him. It would be the last of him.

"Harry…"

Frightened yet determined he mustered the strength to look up at Voldemort. At the same moment the Death Eaters holding him up dropped him. His ribs crashed into the floor, sending a dull and distant pain.

"Quite the survivor, aren't we?"

All Harry could do was stare into the snakelike face, filled with fear at what was coming.

Voldemort's eyes shone a darker red. "I see you are lost for words. No matter. I shall tell you what I wanted to anyway."

Voldemort descended from his throne and swept past the Death Eaters, who were all watching in some sort of sick awe. Harry was only distantly aware of trembling. The pain in his scar, before a small part of the pain he was usually in hit him at full force and he doubled over.

Harry felt a spider like hand on his forehead, and trembled more violently. Voldemort's cold icy breath was right next to his ear, and he whispered:

"Hogwarts is mine…."

Harry's eyes widened. For that moment, all hope he had, all the dreams of his friends shattered in a million pieces, and he threw his face forward and bellowed, "No!"

"Oh yes…" whispered Voldemort malevolently, almost lovingly. His hands raked over Harry's shaking body in pleasure. "It is mine, and so are you…."

With a sudden movement, he moved his pale hand to Harry's scar.

Such pain filled Harry's head that he was screaming, he did not know where he was or where the pain came from. He and Voldemort were a whole, the snake inside him reared and was ready to bite, to kill….

He thought of his friends, but remembered they were all in Voldemort's control…

Harry was lost. There was no hope left, the only thing that was his life was the snake twisting himself around his soul, eating at the happiness that remained in his heart…

And then there was laughter. Harry felt himself flung to the floor. Tears of pain stuck to his cheeks, and his newly healed body was threatening to give out again.. Voldemort's presence was stronger than ever and the red eyes laughed at him, daring him to strike.

He was a snake, though…

He could not strike his Master.

Harry sat up, confused. His Master? Voldemort his master?

And then he saw, with horror, that Voldemort stood over him with an empty box in his hands. Despite how much he did not want to look down, his eyes moved to his neck.

There was a jagged black necklace that was stuck to his chest. It made an angry welt against his pale skin.

He then realized, without knowing how he knew it, that something was gone.

Harry looked up at Voldemort, fear in his eyes. Ron and Hermione and Hogwarts were a distant dream. This was his future now. And he was deathly afraid.

Voldemort's eyes shone, and his cold breath crept into Harry's ear once more.

"Your magic is gone."

Struck with horror, Harry stared at him. He knew that Voldemort was right. There was a part of him that no longer felt whole and that felt empty and strange.

"And now," said Voldemort, bringing forth another box that Harry did not want him to open and tracing Harry's temple with his long, spiny finger.

"You become…my slave."

END OF CHAPTER 1


	2. Acceptance

Enslaved By Victory

CHAPTER 2-Acceptance

Note: Sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I do admit to having some trouble writing it, and I had to make up the story outline/character plans. I hope you enjoy the chapter, and as always, please give any suggestions/feedback on the story. Thank you and enjoy. Happy 4th of July for all you Americans and Happy Independence day for Canada!

Thank you for all the wonderful feedback last time, it was great to have such a positive response. I can only hope that I don't let you all down! Also to that one reviewer who pointed out my misuse of one certain word, I will try to fix that! Thank you for pointing that out :) Edit: it is now fixed and I feel a bit stupid for making that silly mistake. thanks to you guys for seeing it xD

_In Voldemort's hand was an unidentifiable object and in the other was a silver necklace, and Hermione had a dreaded feeling on what it was._

* * *

The pain could not stop the flow of memories that burst forth at Voldemort's touch. It could not still his sudden understanding of Voldemort's means, of what he had always meant to do…

"_Give me the prophecy, Potter…or watch your friends die."_

_Lucius Malfoy's sickening sneer nearly made him sick. Sweat dripping from his forehead, he saw with despair his friends in the clutches of the Death Eaters. Neville was battling against Bellatrix's hold, while she laughed insanely…Ron was fighting against Dolovov, whose face was contorted into a sneer, and Hermione was trying to reach the wand in the Death Eater's grip, but was swatted on the cheek. _

_Harry looked around desperately. There was no sign of any of the Order or Aurors. The Department of Mysteries seemed to echo with invisible chimes. He looked at Malfoy's sneering face and knew he had no choice. No matter how important the prophecy, he couldn't let his friends die. He wouldn't be responsible for anyone's death, no matter the consequences. _

_Harry extended the prophecy in his hand. Malfoy leapt forward to take it. _

_A blast of smoke burst forth out of nowhere, obscuring Harry's vision. Coughing violently, Harry felt the prophecy ripped from his hand. The next thing he knew his lungs were screaming for release, suppressed by a thick, heavy arm. Harry choked and struggled, gasping for air, but his efforts were futile: the man holding him dug a wand painfully into his neck. _

"_Let him go!" came a voice amidst the screams, and Harry realized with a sinking feeling in his heart that it was Sirius. 'No,' Harry thought, 'Go back, go back, don't die…'_

"_Let little Potter go?" sneered Malfoy, digging his wand further into his neck. Harry struggled, but it was no use and a cloud was beginning to form in his oxygen deprived brain. "Now that we have him in our hold? You must be jesting, Black!_

_Distantly he heard a snarl and the sound of a body being pulled across the floor, screaming and spells being cast. The cloud in his brain obscured his vision and he could no longer see. Suddenly the pressure was released, and a cold, quiet voice uttered a spell he could not recognize. Harry's limbs froze, but he could still hear the stabbing cries of his friends and the members of the Order as Apparation carried him away into a hell unknown._

* * *

That was when it had all began.

He knew that he should have expected it all along. Voldemort had always seemed desperate to capture Harry, but Harry had never assumed it was for any other reason than to try and kill him.

Shivering, Harry looked up into the face of his captor.

He now realized that this had been Voldemort's goal from the very beginning. Capture the Boy Who Lived, dissipate all feelings of hope for his rescue and by doing so, break down the foundations on which any revolution against him would stand on….

Hatred boiling in his heart he looked up at Voldemort, who was surveying him as if he was a prized pig at a fair.

Harry was stunned. Words wanted to tumble from his mouth, tell Voldemort he couldn't do this, couldn't use him as a slave, that it was immoral.

His own tongue seemed deaf to his wishes. Voldemort was already talking with his servants, and Harry sat there, just waiting for something to happen to him. His mind was buzzing with a certain disbelief Harry couldn't understand.

"Harry." Voldemort's voice was thick and biting in the sudden silence. Harry stared straight ahead, unseeing. His whole body felt as if it was carved from ice and unmovable. "You have not yet responded to my last comment. You are to become my slave. Does that not…intrigue you?"

Voldemort strolled over to him and stroked his cheek with his finger. Harry flinched and pushed himself back from Voldemort.

"Dear, dear…" chuckled Voldemort, his red eyes burning into Harry's. The scarlet eyes seemed to burn up the remaining hope that was in Harry's green ones. "We will have to remedy that. After all, I am sure you would like to be in a good condition to visit your friends at Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened and he could feel his heart pounding. His friends? Memories came rushing back at such force that his head grew dizzy and his heart thumped louder in his chest. Ron, Hermione…they were all in danger. Voldemort had captured Hogwarts and they were all in danger…

Yet, he would see them again. Harry's heart rose with a slight hope that quickly faded as he imagined Ron and Hermione surrounded by Death Eaters, in chains, and scared.

Voldemort crouched down so he was level with Harry's face. Slowly, he lifted a spiny finger and caressed Harry's scar…

All faded into nothingness. He only had time to see the familiar snake charging towards him before his mind was encased in the snake's clutches.

* * *

_He was conscious, yet he was not completely there…_

_Somehow he felt warm and protected. In the midst of his icy fear he felt a warm, reassuring force wrap around his mind. Barely realizing the force but acknowledging it, Harry recognized the snake that had terrorized him moments before. Instead of bringing him fear comfort flooded his veins, reassuring him. _

_Harry took reverence in the comforting force in his body. It was controlling yet he felt somehow that it was always meant to be inside his brain, as if a part of him had returned from somewhere long lost. _

_The snake in his mind suddenly released its vice like grip and slithered away into the dark, its hiss beckoning him. Harry obediently followed. The snake was reason, was his master, there was no other reason for living…_

_And then there was another terrible pain in his scar as the snake reared and struck, sending a dizzying wave into Harry's brain. He cried out and flinched of the pain that had struck his brain: such pain that radiated evil, hatred, and power. Strangely he was reminded of the failed Occlumency lessons and despite his recent love of the snake's power, he found himself inclined to resist. _

_As if by magic, the picture of Sirius wafted into his thoughts. Sirius's sad face shone out at him, whiskers overgrown and bloodshot eyes full of tears. The face was disappointed, staring out at him and Harry looked at himself. He was skeletally thin, the bones in his ribcage poking out, his hands spiderwebs like Voldemort's, his cheeks hallowed. He no longer looked human…_

'_Sirius,' Harry cried in his mind, yet Sirius remained in front of him, sad but unmoving. Frantically Harry extended a hand but the picture of Sirius did not budge. Harry then realized that it was only a memory, a memory of a life long past…_

_The snake beckoned to him in the dark, inviting pain yet warmth, and Harry longed to meet it again. He knew that the snake would punish him for these thoughts, would punish him for wanting to see Ron and Hermione and Sirius. The thought of them burned in his mind like a candle waiting to ignite, but was washed away in moments. _

'_They are not your family…' came a sudden hiss, and Harry didn't need to turn around to tell who it was. The slipping sound of coils around his mind told Harry that the snake was angry at his memory of Sirius, and Harry felt strangely guilty for betraying the snake. 'You are my family now…those people are long gone, abandoned you, unconnected to you…you and your Master, I, are connected in a way none other would have thought possible. Therefore you shall serve me, as a result of a spell gone wrong, a soul astray. We are connected, Harry, and you will serve your master, for if the soul leaves you…' _

_A distant cackle was all Harry heard before he felt his feet again._

The Death Eaters dragged Harry Potter up the bloodied steps of Hogwarts Castle, Harry's master watching closely from behind.

* * *

Hermione was deathly tired of scrubbing cauldrons.

She wasn't a student that was used to getting out of bed as the roosters crowed and the sun glared into her face, wasn't used to being punished and disciplined like a naughty dog and wasn't used to being under the control of an impertinent adult.

At five in the morning, Hermione had dragged herself out of bed. Slipping on her worn socks and trying to siphon stains off with a rag (wand use was now prohibited by Mudbloods) she had rushed down to the Potions Classroom which was now run by a Death Eater. Under the strict supervision of the 'professor' she and the other Mudbloods scrubbed pots until breakfast. It was to punish them for stealing wands and magic from other wizards and witches.

Hermione had protested at first, trying to show the Death Eaters that she was capable of magic, but was quickly silenced. Nothing had stopped the Death Eaters from punishing her in a quick and efficient fashion and Hermione quickly realized that it was futile to continue her attempts. She had fallen into the dour state of the other Mudbloods of the school, forbidden to use magic and forced to attend 'disciplinary classes' as well as bear the ridicule and harshness of the biased Death Eater professors.

After her morning's work was done, she headed down to the Great Hall. The hall was no longer flooded with the morning sun or even hung over with clouds, it now reflected the serpentine symbol of Slytherin on the ceiling as well as the walls. Posters hung on the walls with constant reminders of etiquette: no Mudblood was permitted to talk to a Pure-Blood, the punishment for doing so was severe, no Mudblood was allowed to touch or look a Pure-Blood in the eye, and the list went on and on. Voldemort's new regime over the school had not only casted a system of fear, but a new caste. The Slytherins, already majorly composed of pure-bloods had been cast further into their self-imposed ranks, while other purebloods were sent into a high ranking position that they did not know how to handle. Some abused the position while others did nothing at all.

Although forbidden to look at Ron or even speak at him, Hermione managed a smile as she passed the Pure-Blood table. The table was made of deep oak and was laden with fine foods, and Ron looked up from his pastry as he gave her a half-worn smile. Something had changed over Ron as they were defeated. No longer was he fiery and easily tempered. Ron kept his silence, and was extremely careful when he and Hermione met in the evenings to talk about the day.

They would discuss Harry, possible escape plans, the Order, their families, and whatever had gone on that day. Hermione thought she would have gone mad without these meetings. It was her only relapse to the world she had once known. All the other students had drawn back into their frightened state, and none were willing to instigate a rebellion. Hermione felt that she and Ron were the last fresh breath of air in the putrid school. All her old Professors were gone, McGonagall had been forced out by the Death Eaters and rarely escaped death. She and Ron had attempted to escape too but were caught by Death Eaters and being friends of Harry Potter, dragged back. They had spent several long days in the Hogwarts dungeons before being released and sent to their new 'houses', rooms set up according to blood ranking. They were promised that none would be harmed as long as they followed the new rules and did not give the Death Eaters any reason to harm them. And no one did. There were a few sparks of rebellion in the beginning that were quickly snuffed out by the enormous Death Eater force.

Hermione knew in her heart that most of the school had given up. She trudged to the old, worn table that the Mudbloods ate their bread at and stared at her plate. She couldn't help but wonder if Harry came back, would things be different.

He was their very last hope, she realized. Without Harry, the war would have truly been won. Hermione knew that he was captured, but there was still a beating heart in him. Wherever there was Harry there was hope and Hermione knew as long as he lived, Voldemort could never win.

"Hey?"

Hermione was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely heard the voice next to her.

"Hermione….Hermione!"

"Oh!" Hermione started, and turned to see Dean Thomas staring back at her. His face looked sickly, and for some reason he looked more worn than usual. Staring at her, he asked, "Pass the jam?"

"Oh yes," Hermione said absentmindly, and handed it over. Dean took his time spreading it on his bread, staring at her.

"You know," he said slowly, still staring at his bread as if counting the grains on it, "there are rumors…"

"What? What rumors?!" Hermione yelped, nearly overturning the jam. The Death Eaters eating at the high table gave her nasty stares and she reclined into her seat, nevertheless staring at Dean in astonishment.

"There are rumors that the Death Eaters are bringing Harry Potter here…"

Hermione's heart stopped. Her breathing slowed, her hands turned clammy and her body froze in its seat. Her wide eyes met Dean's. "Harry?" she whispered. "Where did you hear that?"

Dean looked around nervously, scanning the hall for stray Death Eaters. Quietly he said, "It's been all around school. Someone heard it from one of the Death Eaters."

Chalk white, Hermione turned around without thinking to meet Ron's eyes. His blue eyes were confused and clouded and quickly he turned away, pretending to talk to another pure-blood at the table. Undisturbed, Hermione turned back. Adrenaline raced through her veins and for the first time in many months, she felt the instinct to do something. It was an instinct that she often felt when she was with Harry, an instinct of purpose. She knew she had to find out if Harry was really coming here, and why.

Swallowing hard she walked up to one of the female Death Eaters patrolling the doors. Hermione tried to look brave as the Death Eater stared down at her, her pointed face glaring at Hermione as if she was an annoying insect.

"What do you want?"

"Please, ma'am…the washroom?" Hermione gasped, and then readied herself. The Death Eater stared suspiciously for a moment, and then said "Quickly." Filled with hope, she scurried away.

Dodging Alecto she ran up the stairs to the one place where she knew she could find information: the staff quarters. Hermione knew this was foolish and stupid. She had no proper plan, no wand, and dire consequences awaiting her if she was caught. These thoughts were pushed to the back of her brain: the desire to act was stronger than any worry or fear. Hermione began to fear for her lack of rationality.

Hermione had barely noticed that she had arrived at the office. There were loud, excited voices coming from within. And then there was a voice that stood up the hairs on the back of her neck and made her tremble in fear. Quietly, trembling as if she had emerged from a swimming pool she crept forwards and peered through the window in the door.

Voldemort was standing there, his back to the door. His lips were moving yet Hermione could not clearly understand what he was saying. This sight, however terrifying, held nothing to the boy who Hermione saw lying on the floor, immobile. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her lungs froze, her legs felt like jelly, and shock overtook her with such force that she felt as if she would fall right next to him and be a still as he was, a statue at the feet of Satan.

Harry lay on the floor with a blank white face. His eyes were completely open, the whites of his eyes glistening with fluid and hiding his dark brown pupils. There was something terribly wrong with Harry and Hermione knew it. Not only was he immobile and still but his shirt was missing. In her horror, no blush flew to her cheeks. In Voldemort's hand was an unidentifiable object and in the other was a silver necklace, and Hermione had a dreaded feeling on what it was.

Footsteps suddenly sounded outside the corridor and Hermione, panicking, flung herself out of sight. She hadn't counted on the banging of buckets and mops in the closet she hid in to awaken the men inside the room, for the men to burst out and begin to search for her, to be trapped with Death Eaters and without a wand, to be in grave danger…all alone.

Fear flooded her, giving her a rush much different than the adrenaline that had pulsed through her veins moments before. Trying hard not to think of Ron and how much she needed him now, Hermione forced herself to think about her escape. Silently she began to feel for escape routes. As the footsteps grew louder she realized she had no time. The only way to escape was to push back and that is what she decided to do.

Hermione pushed herself deeper into the broom closet, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Never before had she been so frightened. Further and further she pushed until solid wall came onto her and collided with her back. The footsteps continued to come and Hermione waited, her bushy brown hair soaked with sweat and her face streaked with tears. Moments later, the closet door swung open and light poured against the mops…

As Hermione awaited her impending doom, a Death Eater raised his wand, and spoke one word.

"Accio."

She could only hope that death wouldn't hurt that much. Closing her eyes, she waited for the spell to give her away.


	3. Trapped

Hello...sorry for not updating in forever! I loose inspiration pretty quickly, but the reviews I received told me that people did like the story and wanted more! So I began to feel guilty and decided to try it again. I'm glad I did because I've gotten some new ideas.

Another note is that if anyone is interesting in beta'ing that would be great. As I'm writing I catch some things I do too much and too little of and would love someone to give me advice and suggest things! So, if anyone's interested that would be great :)

**Chapter 3- Trapped**

***

_They moved closer unconsciously, taking slow steps towards the entrance hall where both of them knew their friend was waiting._

_***  
_

It was another dull, gray Tuesday, and Ron's unhappiness reflected the clouds that hung over the silent grounds. Moodily he crushed the pastry he was eating onto his plate and watched as it crumbled. Feeling satisfied, he watched it crumble into dust, ignoring the dirty look a Pure-Blood prefect was giving him. The rest of the students sitting at the table were eating delicately. Their napkins were tucked into their laps and their elbows were off the table.

Ron felt his ears grow red in anger_. Bloody perfect idiots, _he thought. _Trying to look superior because they're Pure-Bloods. _They were sitting there like statues, their eyes focused either on their food or on the person they were talking to. Their eyes were cold and calculating and filled with arrogance. The way they held themselves made the others look like street rats, and Ron wondered if the other students felt it too. It seemed like the others were giving into the Pure-Bloods, and not just because the rules said to.

Even though most Pure-Bloods effectively creeped Ron out more than he would ever admit, he often felt infuriated with them. Most faces were completely cool and calm, nonchalant and unchanging. The only time Ron saw emotion was when a person of lesser blood spoke to them, or when they communicated with their eyes.

It was a disturbing sort of communication, one that made Ron feel that they were promising to punish him later for not fitting in. He had received numerous looks from other Pure-Bloods and had the ever-going feeling that he was going to be attacked.

_They've completely changed, _thought Ron, remembering the jeering Slytherins of their previous years at Hogwarts. Even though annoying, there had been life in each of them. _It's as if they've been trained into acting this way._

A pair of eyes on his back distracted him from those thoughts and he slowly turned. Ron grinned as Hermione walked into the Great Hall, her brown eyes cautious but friendly. Then her eyes disappeared under a curtain of bushy brown hair as she sat down next to Dean Thomas and began chatting.

Ron felt the familiar spike of jealously as he watched Dean and Hermione talking. With an effort he quelled the feeling, shaking his head to himself. He was glad Hermione had a friend. With the two of them forbidden to talk in public, it was good that she had someone to regularly talk to. _It's not as if they actually 'like' one another, _Ron reminded himself, biting into the half-crumbled pasty forcibly. _They're just friends. Like Harry and Hermione are-_

A wave of sadness washed over him and Ron concentrated harder than ever on his pastry, determined not to think of Harry. Still, his clumsy hands wavered and a bead of sweat appeared beneath his violently-red hair. The sudden, familiar feeling of loneliness was once again flowing through him.

It was the feeling he got whenever he thought about Harry sitting next to him and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. He felt like an alien here, a tall, lanky figure with red hair next to quiet and sullen Pure-Bloods who smirked at him with their eyes. Ron would much rather be labeled as a Mudblood and be able to be with Hermione than be here all alone.

He looked up and noticed several of them staring at him now. None of them seemed to acknowledge it was impolite to stare at Ron, although they observed the rule with others. He knew it was because he was a blood-traitor. Ron would not be here had it been for Voldemort, the Grand Master's (as he was called in Hogwarts) desire to respect all pure blood, despite how 'tarnished and poisoned it may be.' Regularly the other Pure-bloods would stare at him, or whisper about him as he passed them in the corridors, or go out of their way to give him nasty looks. He knew Harry would have stood up for him.

It was one thing to be with your own kind, and quite another to be with your own kind and be alone amongst them. Ron was more alone than he ever had been in his life. Forever he had been surrounded with siblings and friends, and now…he was nobody. Now, he was by himself.

Distantly, Ron noticed that many of the Pure-Bloods sitting next to him had gotten up and stared towards the door. Confused, Ron stared at the clock on the wall. It wasn't time for first hour yet, was it?

Many students had gotten up as well and were whispering and staring. Ron glanced at the Mudblood table and noticed that many of them had a look of fear on their faces, many people's faces were stark white.

With a skip of his heart, Ron realized that Hermione was not at the normal place she sat beside Dean, and he too was up and gawking at the entrance to the Hall.

"_Get back here, you filthy Mudblood!"_

There was a sudden scream and crash. Alecto darted in front of the Great Hall, sprinting after an unseen figure, fury alight in her demon eyes. Her mouth was open in a snarl; it was she who had yelled. She started up the stairs after a small figure that was clambering up the steps of the Great Hall.

Ron's lungs suddenly seemed to dry up, and his heart stopped. Terror washed through him. The running student was Hermione.

Terror gripped him, rooting him to the spot. Whatever Hermione had done, it was serious. There were less than five Death Eaters after her now. She had no wand, and the punishment for a serious crime was death for a Mudblood.

"HERMIONE!" Ron cried, and as adrenaline rushed through his veins he raced after her, ignoring the shouts and jeers of his fellow students. The Mudblood table was cheering, the Half-Bloods were staring in disbelief, and many of the Pure-Bloods were drawing their own wands and embarking on the chase, silent and quick as ever.

Ron neared the stairs to the Great Hall and clambered up them, noticing with a jolt that there was smeared blood on one of the steps. Ron burst through the door, his trainers slipping on the polished floor. He raced towards where he saw a Death Eater's robes whip around the corner and followed, panting for breath.

"_I've got her!"_

"NO!" roared Ron, and with all his might he dashed down the corridor and nearly collided with one of the Death Eaters, who had been panting for breath.

The Death Eater stared at him for a moment, not believing what had happened, and then a smirk grew slowly on his face. He yanked Ron up by the collar, choking him.

"Let me go!" Ron yelled, punching the nearest Death Eater with all his might. The Death Eater only sneered at him. Frantically, he looked beyond him but he could not see Hermione.

"And here is her precious little boyfriend!" the Death Eater sneered, and Ron realized with a sinking heart that it was Dolovov.

He was the nastiest of the lot of Death Eaters, a person who made Snape look like a kind soul. His face twisted in sick glee as he surveyed Ron, and Ron realized with a sinking feeling that he could be in as much trouble as Hermione was. "A little blood-traitor too, by the looks of it. Weasley, huh?" he sneered, looking Ron up and down. Ron gritted his teeth in anger. "I'm not surprised.

With a swift motion, he threw Ron at the feet of a trembling Hermione. Her face was clean of blood or injuries but she was shaking all over and her eyes were filled with fear. She saw Ron and her eyes grew wide.

"No," she moaned and she began to shake. Ron could only stare dumbly, his rage replaced by shock. "Run."

"So," snarled Alecto, coming into view. Her face was flushed with anger and a smile had stretched across her face. She stuck out her wand and pointed it at Hermione's face. "Thought you'd listen in to the Great Master's conversation with his finest?" snarled Alecto.

Hermione did not answer. Ron could see the calculations running through her brain, figuring out what to say and how to escape.

"Well?" she said, more quietly. Hermione continued to shake, and looked down. Ron's heart flooded with fear. He knew that Hermione could not talk her way out of this one, and could not lie, for the evidence against her was too strong.

"Very well," she said quietly. "Maybe a little persuasion!" she snarled, and her boot lashed out and smacked Hermione hard in the face. Hermione cried out as blood sprayed from her nose like a fountain, draping her eyes and cheeks and nose.

"LEAVE HER ALONE, YOU BITCH!" Ron screamed, something awakening in him that he had never felt before.

Ron rushed at her, ignoring the looks of surprise and fury on the Death Eater's faces. He wanted to kill her, kill her for hurting Hermione, for making her whimper and for making tears run down her flawless face-

"You stupid boy!" screamed Alecto in anger, and there was a loud _bang! _A force that felt like a fist slammed into Ron, knocking him several feet back.

Gritting his teeth, Ron tried to get up, but the pain in his chest overwhelmed him and he was forced to lay back, his chest pounding.

"How dare you attack a teacher!" Alecto screamed, and Ron was distantly aware of spitting random profanities at Alecto… He was beyond reason, his rage had taken over, and his hands clawed thin air in desperation to hurt her. She sent another spell at him that had him reeling towards the wall. He hit the wall so hard that he felt tremors run up and down his back. A few tears leaked out the corner of his eyes.

"Leave him alone!" Hermione sobbed, clutching at Alecto's robe in desperation. Her bushy hair was a tangled mess, covered in blood and slime. Alecto drew away from her with a disgusted look on her face, as if she was a disease. "You want me! Now do what you will!"

"Very well, little girl," huffed Alecto, staring at the other Death Eaters. They looked shocked, staring at Ron and some of them mouthing, 'pure-blood.' "We'll punish your little boyfriend later. As for you," she sneered, and Hermione drew back in fear, her brown eyes filled with tears and blood mixing in the tears on her cheeks, "We'll see if the Dark Lord approves of eavesdropping. Your punishment will be…"

"Alecto!" barked a voice from down the hallway.

Ron heard the sound of footsteps and he turned to see that Snape running towards them with his wand out.

Oddly, Ron was relieved to see Snape. Snape was still his nasty, cruel and biased self, but he never punished them as the other teachers did. Despite his hatred towards Snape, something about him made him different than the other Death Eaters.

Snape skidded to a halt in front of them, his sallow face flushed and greasy hair in a mess behind his head. "The Dark Lord has a special presentation to make to the students. One that, perhaps," he stared at Hermione, sneering, as she stared back unblinkingly, "suit this girl's punishment. I am sure, once you see it; you will deem it a satisfactory punishment for her recent crime."

Alecto stared at Snape for a moment, her face rigid and blank with shock. Then she regained herself and a smile twisted itself forcibly onto her face. "You speak well, Snape," she said softly, although the words did not seem to reflect her true feelings. Her long fingers twisted around her other hand, as if to strangle it. "Bring the children. Let them see the Dark Lord's true wrath."

Snape smiled hollowly. "I shall see to it," he said and motioned Ron and Hermione to follow. Not thinking to disobey, they followed Snape at wand point down the dark corridor, leaving the staring Death Eaters behind.

The castle was quiet. The portraits had gone from their frames and Ron stared into the empty canvas, seeing his own face reflect in the picture. It was an eerie, wrong sort of silence that Ron didn't like. He shivered, hoping they could emerge from the corridor soon.

Ron and Hermione didn't dare talk to one another. Both stared ahead and marched in precision as Snape followed. Their footsteps left traces on the squeaky clean, laundered carpets below them. Nothing could be heard but the sounds of them breathing.

They reached the Entrance Hall, and Ron could hear a faint buzzing coming from the Great Hall. Ron glanced at Hermione in confusion, and she stared back at him. Classes should be going on now. It sounded as if the whole school was in the Hall.

Snape stopped abruptly, and they turned to look at him. He was staring at them with the coldness they usually received from the teachers, but Ron thought there was something different in his eyes. If Ron hadn't known Snape, he might've recognized it for pity.

"In," he said quietly, his dark eyes staring at the door to the Hall.

Ron and Hermione linked hands. Ron didn't care how the ghostly Pure-Blood faces would stare at him as he walked hand in hand with a Mudblood. He smiled at her, hoping the hold of his hand would pacify her. Her face was chalk-white and her hand was cold, and she looked at him and mouthed, "Harry."

It was if someone had slipped an ice cube down Ron's throat. His hand began to tremble and Hermione squeezed it tightly. They moved closer unconsciously, taking slow steps towards the entrance hall where both of them knew their friend was waiting.

"Harry," they whispered, and hand in hand, Ron and Hermione walked through the doors together.

* * *

There was a loud humming. It was rather like an alarm clock buzzing in his ear, and Harry swiped at it so it would go away.

A pain had grown in the center of his forehead, and he wished it would stop. It was annoying. Harry battered away the pain with his hand, but it only increased.

Then there was a voice. The chattering in his brain grew quiet, and the voice blocked out all other noise surrounding him. The voice was high, cold, and Harry didn't like it. The pain in his head was growing with every word the voice spoke, and he knew in some strange way that the voice wouldn't go away. It was real.

Instinctively he fought against the darkness. Gradually the darkness creeping onto his brain lessened, and he opened his eyes.

Harry was vividly aware of hundreds of faces staring at him and then, most importantly, of the huge windows of the Great Hall. His mind reeled in shock at the sight and his mouth gaped open. Could he be home, in the place he loved?

"What?" Harry mumbled, sitting up and trying to take place of his surroundings. He felt strange and oddly numb, as if something had gripped the strength in his body and was squeezing it tight.

Harry was distantly aware of someone watching him. He thought he knew who it was, and he shut the figure out of his head. He had no wish for Voldemort to ruin his sights of the Great Hall.

Looking around, a swarm of faces came into his line of vision-young, fearful faces that stared with gaping mouths and tears and admiration. Harry realized with a jolt that these were faces he knew. He saw Lavender Brown, Parviti, Justin, Crabbe, Hannah Abott and many more people that he didn't know well, but was just happy to see.

He wanted to smile at them. It had been so long since he'd seen a familiar face that didn't want to kill him or hurt him. He knew they wouldn't hurt him, and they'd love him like the hero he was. Right?

A smile stretched slowly on Harry's face, but the fear intensified. Distantly Harry thought he heard the sound of crying. Where was it? He looked around confusedly. The numbness was decreasing now, and the pain was more real.

"Welcome home, Harry," cooed a malelovent voice, and Harry shut his eyes. He did not want to hear Voldemort.

Voldemort lowered his mouth to Harry' ear and Harry shook his head violently. "No…" he muttered. "Not you…"

"I am sorry to say, Harry, that it is me," said Voldemort humorously, and Harry thought he heard laughter coming from the far left of the Hall.

Harry was beginning to feel faint again; the close proximity of Voldemort was making his head spin and his stomach feel sick.

Harry shuddered as Voldemort teasingly lifted one long, white finger to his temple and stroked it. Then he lifted up and began to address the silent crowd.

"As you can see," he said in a high, cold voice, "I have before you the traitor of all of Pure-Bloods, the reason for disorder and violence, the cause of death and destruction, your so-called hero."

A hiss came from one side of the hall, but Voldemort ignored them all. It soon subsided, and Harry imagined Voldemort's red hot eyes burning into those who were hissing at his words, threatening death.

Despite his situation Harry had to admire the speaking skills that Voldemort had. He had a cold, commanding voice that demanded attention.

"I will take this opportunity to announce," Voldemort went on, and his voice got lower and the Hall seemed to grow quieter and stiller, "a certain change that will go on in all Wizarding communities and schools. From now on, Pure-Bloods will not only demand respect from lesser bloods and Mudbloods, but have the free ability to control the Mudblood's every move. Yes," he sneered, watching the students as they gaped, "it has been decided that Mudbloods cannot be trusted. It is therefore prudent that Pure-Bloods may be rewarded for their dedication with magic with servants of Muggle blood. The great leaders of our new world are counting on Pure-Bloods to obtain and prohibit desecrating actions and influences of Mudbloods by giving them better guidance and work."

"Now," Voldemort continued, and Harry saw with horror a smile begin to creep upon his spider like face and his pale lips begin to stretch, "I have brought upon you an example. Harry here, although not of Muggle blood, is the lowliest stench ever to be brought upon this earth. I see it necessary to retain such a lowly figure. Harry here will serve upon my every need, learning and seeing how those of higher blood and of pure power act. He will be punished for his abominable actions and for dirtying the minds of wizarding kind. You will all see," he whispered venomously, "what it is like for one to be broken…in the best way."

Smiling benignly at Harry, he advanced, his red eyes burning with hunger. Harry's hands broke out in sweat and he backed away from Voldemort on his hands and knees. He would not become Voldemort's toy. He had been that for much too long.

_I'd rather die than become that again, _Harry thought.

Voldemort reached a bony hand down and crushed Harry's, pulling him closer. Harry gasped as Voldemort pulled him closer to him, only stopping when he could smell Voldemort's hot breath in his nostrils.

"Resist me," Voldemort whispered in a voice so cold that it froze Harry's very insides, "And I will see to it that your friends will die."

He let Harry drop to the ground and Harry fell against the stone, his whole body feeling the shock of the tremors.

Harry's mind was buzzing in shock. There was now, he realized, something left to live for. But the smallest glimmer of hope-as unreachable as it must be, as crazy the idea of obtaining it-would be obtained at the highest of prices.

Harry knew Voldemort was going to take his soul. So it was that he did not struggle as the Death Eaters wrapped him in chains and dragged him after Voldemort who swept out of the silent Hall.

* * *

Note: I hope it has become clear through the past chapters that the link between Harry and Voldemort will not only be that of slave and master, but of more than that-which may affect Harry's actions in the future and the end.


	4. Possessed

Thanks everyone for the reviews! I love to hear from people, even if it's constructive criticism (as long as it's phrased nicely) and I will be going on a trip next week so I won't be around until late next week.

Chapter 4: Possessed

_"Why do you not eat him?" _

_"His meat would not enrich me any, Nagini," Voldemort smirked. "Though if I ever decide to get rid of him you will have first pick."_

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Harry silently followed Voldemort throughout Hogwarts. Death Eaters flanked him on either side. They wore triumphant looks on their faces and were staring lovingly at their master, as if observing a god.

_Sickening, _Harry thought.

Harry remembered the look on the student's faces in the Great Hall and pulled his head up in defiance. He remembered how broken and weakened he had looked. The looks on their faces showed that they believed all hope was lost. Now that he thought of it, he closed his eyes-he could not bear to remember their faces, frozen in shock at their fallen hero, the one they believed would pull them out of the hell Voldemort had created.

Hogwarts, the place Harry had once called home, was now a representation of the Pure-Blood beliefs that Voldemort adhered so strongly to. Now he was a prisoner in Voldemort's hell, a mere trophy to be put on display.

Harry glanced outside one of the tall windows. It was mid-afternoon now, and he could see students begin to come out onto the lawns and rest under the trees. He would never be able to do that with his friends again. Ron and Hermione, no doubt they were still here, might be going outside right now to talk about the events that had just transpired.

If it all, he would live for the chance to see his friends again.

They had reached a gargoyle and Harry realized suddenly that it was Dumbledore's old office. Voldemort turned around with his serpentine face curled into a grin.

"I'm sorry to say Dumbledore is not here anymore, Potter," he said softly, and the Death Eaters laughed nastily behind him. "He seems to have…abandoned the post."

Harry gritted his teeth in anger, refusing to look at the demon's eyes. Satisfied that he had efficiently goaded Harry, Voldemort ran a long finger down the center of the gargoyle's head. Its eyes were lifeless and it did not spring to life as it once had, instead sinking into the ground.

Voldemort beckoned Harry up the stairs, and he had no choice but to follow, his scar pounding harder than ever. Harry was reminded strongly of a funeral procession-Voldemort in front, Death Eaters walking silently at his back and him in the center. A horrible feeling crept up into his stomach, one that told him he was never going to see the outside of the office again.

Then Voldemort's spider-like fingers were on the doorknob and the door swung open, revealing a place that was unlike any other Harry had ever seen.

Voldemort had turned Dumbledore's office into a majestic looking room. Long columns held up the wall, surrounded by serpents. A blazing fire roared in a gigantic fireplace, basking the room in a warm light. The walls were not brick or stone, as Harry had supposed a dungeon might look like but of plaster, with tapestries hanging from its walls. Behind the fireplace, carpet lead up to what looked like to be a throne of a king. To one side of the throne, the sword of Gryffindor was laid in a case. It did not look like the room of a demon but rather that of a king.

Now that they were inside, Voldemort had taken off his traveling cloak. He was watching Harry look around and his face was expressionless. Now he waved a bony hand towards the Death Eaters, who bowed and left. Harry could see their faces were alight with curiosity.

Voldemort flicked his wand towards the door and a strange musical sound emitted from the door. Harry had no doubt it was a spell to keep him from escaping or to put up wards.

Now Harry stood in the middle of the room, still flanked in chains. His heart was trying to escape his chest, pounding desperately against his ribcage. His scar hurt so badly that he thought if he made any movement he might fall over from the pain. He was distantly aware of Voldemort approaching him.

"_Evanesco" _said Voldemort. Harry's arms fell to his sides as the chains instantly disappeared. The pain in his scar was still raging, however, and Harry faltered as Voldemort stepped closer. Harry didn't like the look in his eyes, they were strange and maniacal.

"Do you feel pain, Potter?" Voldemort said softly, stepping even closer. Harry took a step back with his hand planted firmly to his scar.

"Ah," said Voldemort, "You do. A little pain helps everyone, Potter," he sneered, causing Harry to fall to the floor as he took another step towards him, "as you shall soon learn. However, I wish you to be alert at this moment, so-"

Another wave of Voldemort's wand, and the pain had vanished from his forehead. He looked slowly up at Voldemort, who was watching him impassively.

"A spell of my own invention," he said, "that will stop the pain for a short time. Now rise, I have much to show you as you will be spending quite a lot of time in here. I expect you to pay attention."

Harry thought Voldemort sounded rather like a professor, strangely enough. But he had nothing else to do and not welcoming more pain he got up and followed Voldemort into a door leading off the main room.

They walked into a large kitchen. It was unlike any Harry had ever seen before, including Molly Weasley's. Several cauldrons were boiling on green fires, and knives were chopping up ingredients at their own command. Harry looked up at the ceiling and saw hundreds of dried spices hung up on ropes. Cured meat hung from strings and boxes and boxes of goods rested up on shelves. Harry looked back at Voldemort wordlessly, not knowing what to think.

"Come," said Voldemort, and Harry followed him into what looked like a suite. It was a huge room with a four poster bed twice the size of what he had at Hogwarts previously and several sofas. Another blazing fire roared in a fireplace. Voldemort sat down in one of the armchairs and beckoned Harry to do the same.

"Now, Harry," said Voldemort, twisting his fingers together, "You know why I have brought you here." Harry looked into his eyes and tried not to shudder.

"Despite my other duties," Voldemort began, "I find it important to look after the youths of Hogwarts and to oversee their educational development. Now that my Death Eaters are in the government I can see to my leisure and personal interests."

Harry said nothing, although he was boiling inside.

"Now you, Harry," said Voldemort, and Harry thought he could detect anger radiating off Voldemort, "were the savior of the Wizarding World, the reason they all thought I was gone. You had been missing for two years and now you return, weak and helpless. However, it would do me no good to kill you. You would look like a martyr. The last thing we need are ridiculous children revolting due to their precious hero's death," Voldemort sneered.

"Therefore, you will be seen as and placed under my control. You will accompany me to important functions, as the pathetic little slave you will be, and be in my service at all times. I have taken your magic away and now you are no more than a Squibb, which suits you perfectly. The whole of Hogwarts students will see your shame and learn that if they chose to wander down the same path as you have, they will end up the same way."

"You bastard!" Harry yelled, finally cracking. "Do you actually think I'm going to sit down and let you take control of my life? You're tortured me for years, now end it!"

"Ah, but Harry," said Voldemort, a sneer creeping up his face, "Death is not an option for you. And should you chose to disobey me-"

He waved his wand, and a picture of two people appeared out of thin air-two people Harry knew very well.

"Ron and Hermione," he whispered. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes as he stared at them hungrily. He did not care that Voldemort was smiling triumphantly at him. They were there, alive.

"Your little friends are already on the brink of punishment, so any wrongdoing on your part will ensure that they feel the most pain possible," said Voldemort coldly. "I will see to it that I will punish them personally and you, Potter, will be a witness to your crime."

Harry stared desperately at Voldemort, but he knew he was right.

"Depending on your behavior," Voldemort continued, "I shall allow you out of the room on brief visits. I do not wish for someone of your stature to be educated, but we may see if you are to be allowed brief visits to some of your past-_friends." _He sneered at the word.

"What do you really want from me, Voldemort?" Harry spat, getting to his feet. He was sick of all these games. "Why are you keeping me here? We both know there are other ways of keeping me alive. Why do you want me here?"

Voldemort's eyes shone with anger. "I thought I made that clear, Potter," he sneered.

"You obviously have another purpose!" Harry shouted. Voldemort stared at him, his face now a mask of boredom.

"Finished?" said Voldemort coolly as Harry stood there in anger, panting. "I have no use for your little tirades."

He snapped his fingers, and a House-Elf appeared. They were the one thing in Hogwarts that hadn't really changed at all. Small and servile, the House-Elf bowed.

"Show Potter to his rooms," the Dark Lord said "and his accommodations. I wish him back here in half an hour."

Then he swept from the room, the door banging shut behind him. Harry felt a small victory over having angered Voldemort and followed the House-Elf into a small door without resistance.

The House-Elf looked a bit frightened, but cheered up as he looked up at Harry, obviously happy to have a new master. "Honored to have you in Hogwarts, Harry Potter!" squeaked the House-Elf, leading Harry through a small door. Harry couldn't help but notice that instead of the rags that they usually wore, they now wore small black cloaks with a Dark Mark embellished on them. The elf bounced happily as he opened the door and bowed Harry in.

Harry didn't know what to expect. Would Voldemort stick him into a dungeon with rats? Would he be forced to sleep on the floor like he did whenever the Dursley's were forced to take him somewhere, like the hut on the rock?

He was a bit surprised to see it look like an ordinary bedroom apart from the fact that the bed's headboard was carved out of fake snakes and everything in the room seemed to have something with a snake on it. Harry noticed a small table with a green potion resting on it.

"What's that potion for?" Harry asked the elf curiously, but the elf shook its head and pointed towards the small wardrobe.

"All your clothes will be in there, Harry Potter," said the elf. Then the elf walked over to the emerald curtains and drew them open, letting sunlight spill into the room. Harry blinked at the flood of light spilling into the room. He walked over to the window and saw students milling around in the courtyard outside, talking to one another. A feeling of loneliness washed over him.

"When am I going to be let out of here?" he asked quickly. The elf looked at him with a fallen face.

"I don't know, Harry Potter," said the elf. "I only does what the Grand Master tells me to sir."

_Voldemort, _thought Harry with anger. _No doubt he would have fashioned a new name to develop fear amongst the students. _

Harry looked up and saw fear on the elf's face at his anger. He forced a smile onto his face. No matter what his predicament it wasn't the elf's fault.

"Thanks for showing me around," he said with a smile. The elf nodded cautiously and then looked at a clock on the wall.

"Grand Master wishes you to be back in half an hour, Harry Potter, so feel free to explore your chambers," said the elf and then he left without a word.

Harry sat down on the bed, his head throbbing. He couldn't quite believe that Voldemort hadn't punished him yet. A part of him knew, and Harry's stomach twisted at the thought, that Voldemort wouldn't just let him be his servant. He had something else planned.

Harry jumped: someone was knocking at the door. He glanced at the clock hurriedly; it hadn't been half an hour yet.

The door opened and Voldemort walked in. He was wearing robes of emerald satin and a smile.

"My lunch does not prepare itself, Potter," he said. "As your first act as my slave, I wish you to prepare me a meal. I hope it is satisfactory as the House-Elves'. I will be waiting for an hour. Only one hour."

Voldemort turned and walked out of the room, leaving Harry's stomach churning. He was a good cook due to his experience at the Dursley's but cooking for Voldemort?

Harry knew he couldn't refuse so he walked slowly to the kitchen, pulled out a cookbook, and started from there.

Thirty minutes later found Harry poring over a cookbook while stirring a steaming pot of soup with his free hand. A chicken was already roasting in the oven, the best of the meats Harry had found in the cupboard (the others had nearly made him sick). Harry was going for something simple: he didn't wish to impress Voldemort and he didn't want to mess up and be punished for any mistakes. Harry had, in desperate hope, looked for ingredients that might be used for a poison but had realistically failed to find any.

Finally the soup was ready and Harry took a tray, placed a bowl of soup and a plate of chicken with some pumpkin juice on it and took it out to the silent dining hall. Voldemort was waiting at the table with his snake Nagini on his arm. The snake hissed at Harry when he entered.

"Down, my dear Nagini," Voldemort muttered petting the snake.

"_The boy smells so much better than the food," _hissed the snake discontently, staring at Harry. _"Why do you not eat him?"_

"His meat would not enrich me any, Nagini," Voldemort smirked, "Though if I ever decide to get rid of him you will have first pick."

"_Thank you Master," _the snake hissed. She continued to stare at Harry, twisting around Voldemort's arm as she did so. Feeling nervous, Harry walked quickly over to Voldemort and set the dishes in front of him and then turned around, hoping to exit as quickly as possible.

"Not so fast, Harry," came Voldemort's amused voice from behind him. Harry froze. "I wish to have you in my quarters at seven o' clock. I have quite a few things to discuss with you, as long as…a therapy session of sorts."

Harry did not like the idea at all, but he did not dare disagree. He gave a short nod and hurried away, Voldemort's laughter ringing in his ears.

* * *

"But why hasn't Voldemort killed him yet?" murmured a quiet voice.

Albus Dumbledore was beginning to be afraid that he was too smart for his own good. Naturally, he prided himself on his ability to predict events that usually happened. Harry's life, in particular, was a challenge, but he thought he had figured out most of it.

He knew that Harry was Voldemort's Horcrux. All the evidence pointed to it: Harry's uncanny ability to see through the snake's eyes, to speak the snake's language, his miraculous survival of the Killing Curse…"

_The snake. _Albus stared out at the pouring rain, sinking farther into the armchair he was seated in.

The snake, of course, was the essence divided. Harry could see through Nagini's eyes and as she was the only living Horcrux other than Harry, they obviously had a connection.

But what if the snake was not only Nagini, but something else? A symbol-a parasite made when the transfer of souls from Voldemort to Harry was made that Halloween night, a ever-growing parasite that was growing by the day? Dumbledore knew this parasite had worked both ways before: it gave Harry dangerous insights to Voldemort's everyday doings and deepest secrets. So why had Voldemort not ended the connection, fearing for his own safety?

Manipulation had been Dumbledore's first thought. He thought that Voldemort might manipulate the strange connection to make Harry do his bidding and turn the savior of the Wizarding World against it. But no…Voldemort had perfered to keep Harry locked up for two years, keeping him in close proximity with him and giving him a dose of torture every once in awhile…

And what was going on with Voldemort's desire for Harry to be his slave? Surely it was not only to have a trophy or a symbol of defeat. Dumbledore was convinced it was more than that, a dangerous and deeper connection than one between prisoner and torturer, one that Voldemort was using as an experiment. Voldemort was always looking for more power, for more immortality-and Dumbledore feared Harry might be on the receiving end of such an experiment.

Dumbledore sighed, resting his head against his hand. The roaring fire was giving him no warmth, even his Muggle candies failed to please him. They had failed Harry, failed when they let him be captured, failed when the attempts to rescue him had fallen short, and failed when the Order was forced to go into hiding.

Absentmindedly Dumbledore picked up the _Daily Prophet._ Normally he would not read such a rag, but he thought the mindless stories, even if they were written by Death Eaters, would help keep his mind off Harry.

And then there was an article on Harry.

Dumbledore could not stop himself from reading: how Harry's magic had been stripped from him, how he was now Voldemort's enslaved. How the practice was now going around the Wizarding community, and how Harry deserved what he had got. Dumbledore turned over the paper in disguist.

On the back of the paper was a small picture of a lion being throttled by a snake. The snake was slowly enveloping the lion, darkening out its magnificent mane, so much that it was almost no longer visible except for a small emerald eye.

And then something clicked quite suddenly.

"Minerva!" he called, throwing down the paper and rushing down the stairs. "I need you!"

The _Daily Prophet _blew into the fire, scorching in the blazing flames.

**

Harry was beginning to like green, and he didn't want to admit it.

He had always hated the green, silver, and snake symbols of Slytherin, but now he had to admit they had some sort of sinister beauty. He almost felt like he was home as he combed his room, looking at all the snake-shaped furniture.

Voldemort had supplied him with some basic black cloaks, all of which he was disguisted to see had the Dark Mark on them. He finally found some with a single coiling snake on them and pulled them on, throwing his tattered robes to the floor.

Harry was surprised to find that there was a small revolving door in the corner of the room. It lead to a small loft which was filled with books. It was a cozy sort of place, with a small window. It was a tiny space filled with comfortable looking armchairs. Harry could see himself relaxing there. He backed away slowly and went downstairs.

It was nearing seven o clock when Harry left his room. The main quarters were empty and Harry figured Voldemort must be in the sitting room. He pulled open the doors with snake handles.

Voldemort was sitting in an armchair reading a book. Nagini was stangely missing from the scene. He looked up and smiled as Harry entered, a smile that sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"So nice to see you here, Potter. I thought you might put up more of a fuss, but it seems like I have taught you well. Come sit down next to me."

Voldemort was watching him with a slight smile and a strange look in his burining red eyes. Harry slowly crossed the room and sunk into an armchair near Voldemort.

"Now, Harry," he said softly, "This must be a strange experience for you. Please…share some of your thoughts."

Before Harry could move, Voldemort had slid closer to Harry. He was so close to Harry that he could smell his breath. Harry fought the urge not to vomit.

And then memories-memory after memory, the Dursley's, Hogwarts, the Triwizard Tournament, the dungeon he was kept in-were all running through his brain.

"No…" Harry muttered, his voice shaking… " Don't look at those…"

Voldemort hissed in his ear, and Harry was reminded strongly of a snake circling in on his prey.

Memory after memory washed through his brain, all circling around fear and the traumatic events of the past two years. Harry was distantly aware of Voldemort placing a bony finger on his scar and the pain that flared up from it, a yell coming out of his mouth…

And then there was a snake, the snake that Harry barely knew yet was growing more familiar with all the time…It grew in his mind, blocking out those bad memories, a glowing light in the darkness…Harry embraced it. It took him away from the pain and Voldemort.

Then his mind acted for him: the snake had taken over and now was ordering him to bow before Voldemort. Despite this act of servitude, Harry knew he was more powerful than ever before. He was at the service of the most powerful wizard ever to live.

"Master…" he murmured.

"Here at last," said Voldemort triumphantly, and Harry felt a flare of happiness run through his veins.

Voldemort laughed.

"It is only a short amount of time until you are freed, my wonderful," he hissed, stroking Harry's scar. "A mere boundry, a mere mind separates us…but once that is broken you will be my true slave."

Then something came rushing back to Harry, there was a voice in his head that screamed _No! _and his emerald eyes flew to Voldemort in horror as he saw himself bowing at the feet of his nemesis.

"NO!" Harry screamed and backing away from Voldemort, groped for a wand that wasn't there. Voldemort stared at him, anger flashing in his eyes. "You won't take control of me! You can't-"

Voldemort ran forward and grabbed Harry by the head, the palm of his hand covering Harry's scar. Harry screamed in anguish, trying to pull away, but Voldemort held him fast.

"You are mine, boy, do not forget," Voldemort hissed dangerously. "I allow you to live for one reason: for my amusement. Now get to bed!"

He threw Harry from him and Harry fled, slamming the door behind him. Tears ran down his face as he dashed into his room and slammed the door. He knew he ought to feel ashamed of sobbing, but the snake had made him feel like he had never before. It had awakened a part of him that Harry somehow knew had been there all along and given him a different kind of hope. It wasn't the hope that kept Harry living, the hope that he might one day be with his friends. It was the hope that Harry would one day be Voldemort's closest companion, his slave.

"_Harry?"_

The voice came from the darkness and Harry spun around just as the invisible figure launched at him and threw him to ground. A cloak fell off his invisible attacker and obscured his view of the ceiling. Harry pulled it off himself and whirled around, facing a wand pointed straight at his heart.

AN: Hope you liked it.


	5. Controlled

hehe...no excuse this time...just saying I have a whole story map planned out so that should help me in the future. Enjoy and thanks for the reviews. They really encourage me to write, no joke-if I didn't get them I wouldn't be writing the story still.

**Chapter 5: Controlled**

* * *

***

_"Master will love it!" Bellatrix hissed._

_"Of course he will," drawled Severus, backing out of the room. "Just as he loves you."_

* * *

"_Answer me!" _the voice growled. The wand that was threatening to kill him suddenly was ablaze with light. Harry gasped as Ron Weasley's face was thrown sharply into view.

"Ron!" Harry choked, but Ron did not let up his wand.

"Why did Filch catch us in our first year after we delivered Norbert?" Ron's eyes bore into his like a hawk's. "_Answer me!"_

"Because-because we left the Invisibility Cloak on the top of the tower."

Ron straightened up suddenly and Harry was startled to notice tears running down his friend's face. Part of him felt like it was a dream; moments ago he had been tortured by Voldemort. Moments ago he never thought he would see his friends again. Simultaneously they embraced, their tears dripping onto each other's shoulders.

"You're really Harry," Ron mumbled, visually shaking all over. "I thought…I thought they were playing tricks on us. Like they usually do."

"Usually do…?" questioned Harry, and with a slight gasp he saw dried up cuts pocket-marked on Ron's face. Ron noticed Harry's observations and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter now," Ron said.

Panic rose in Harry's chest as he realized that he had just left Voldemort outside the door. "Quiet!" hissed Harry. "What are you doing here? If he finds out you're here, he'll kill you!"

In the dim light of Ron's wand, Harry could see him smiling sadly. "Mate, you're in a lot worse trouble than I am," he said quietly. Then, as if he had been waiting for months to say it he blurted out, "Where were you? We looked so hard for you- Hermione was crying for months, the whole Order was frantic!"

Harry shook his head, not wanting to tell his friend the truth. "This is a lot better than where I was previously, if you really want to know," he said, shuddering as he remembered the cold cell.

Ron looked at him fiercely. "I'll get you out tonight," he whispered, drawing his wand. Harry felt an unexplained source of dread. " I have another broom in my dorm. I know how to get out of the grounds, we could both get out of here now."

"He wouldn't make it that easy, Ron," said Harry. "He has wards on my room: I can't leave without his permission-"

"His permission!" snarled Ron, and Harry could see the anger growing in his face, "The sick bastard, making you his slave.."

Harry's stomach knotted at Ron's words. He hadn't thought about what the other students thought of his predicament and what he looked like to his former friends.

_Once a wizarding hero, now a powerless slave, _taunted the voice in his head. Harry tightened his resolve at the words. If there was anything in his power right now it was to listen to Voldemort. Otherwise, Ron and Hermione would be tortured-or worse.

"Don't worry, Ron, I'll find a way out," he said, attempting to inflict calm into his voice. "Just keep Hermione safe and stay safe. Don't try to break me out: Voldemort's too smart for that." He ignored Ron's flinching at the name. "He may think that he has me under his control but I'll never listen to the bastard." Harry's tongue grew thick at the lie.

Ron looked at the floor with unease and Harry realized he had unnerved him with his talk.

Quite suddenly, he looked up.

"Are they at least feeding you?"

Harry felt startled at the question and hurried to answer. "Yes..I'm surprised actually," he said.

Ron nodded. The temperature in the room had turned to ice, and Harry found he could not look at Ron. It was humiliating, describing himself as a captive. Ron had all the freedom: he could come and go as he pleased and he was a Pure-Blood, free from Voldemort.

It was only his affiliation with Harry that was endangering him. Despite this, Harry knew he couldn't give up his friends. It was selfish but they were his last reason for living.

Looking up, he saw a raw look of pity on Ron's face. Tears had started to run down his cheeks again, startling Harry: Ron rarely cried.

"Look, Ron, I'll find my way out of this somehow," he said quietly, putting his hand on Ron's shoulder. Ron did not lookup, he seemed to be scrutinizing the rug. Ron's whole body shook with fear as he sought to concentrate. "I always do: don't worry about me."

Ron finally looked at him. Tears were running down his face. More than his captivity or the events that Harry had been through this startled him: Ron had never broken like this.

"Just don't give in to him, Harry," he said with a strange coldness as he mounted his broom and, with one last look at his best friend, launched into the sky.

Harry sat silent for a minute after his friend left, his leaving words echoing in his head. _Don't give in…_how could he keep that promise, when he had already partially had?

_You don't have to keep any promise, _whispered a raspy voice in his head, and Harry shook it to clear it out. The snake hissed and coiled itself into a comfortable position.

* * *

Voldemort may have been the 'Grand Master.' He may have all the students under Hogwarts under his control and nearly all of Britain to boot. He might have captured the elusive Harry Potter and had assumed him as his personal slave.

_However, _thought Hermione Granger, _he hadn't found out about the Room of Requirement. _

It had been difficult but Hermione had managed to sneak in while Alecto was looking the other way and furnish the room to her liking. Neat, organized and fit for dueling: Hermione had set it up her way. It had given her a sense of control over her life that she had long since lost.

Then was the grueling task of enlisting students. Hermione had decided to call the new organization _FFH, _or Fighting for Hogwarts/Harryand was now trying to recruit members. This was risky and difficult: many did not want to risk talking to a Mudblood and she had to rely on her past friendships to know who was loyal to Hogwarts and who wasn't.

Today was the first meeting and the room was bright and clean. Blue wallpaper adorned the wall, caressing pictures of lilies and flowers. A single chandelier hung above that shone brightly throughout the room. Fake windows let in artificial sunlight that basked the silk pillows in a dazzling light.

She had managed to pull together fifteen students and to talk Ron into co-heading the club with her. It was good that one of them was a Mudblood and one a Pure-Blood: Ron was able to identify those who might be interested. Now fifteen nervous students were sitting in front of her.

"Ahem," said Hermione, and they all silenced at once. "Welcome to the FFH. Our purpose is…"

"Please, Hermione," called out Hannah Abbott, "Do you know what happened to Harry?" She looked at their worry-filled faces.

"Ron knows that Harry is locked up in…Voldemort's…headquarters," she said quietly. The students stared at her and then began whispering to each other urgently.

"This is exactly the reason we are here today," she said loudly and they all turned their attention to her once more. "What Voldemort is doing to Harry and what he plans to do to all of us is nothing short of inhuman. One day we must be prepared to fight for ourselves-"

"Hear, Hear!" chanted the Weasley twins. Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She could never quite get used to Fred's damaged arm, or George's sunken eyes.

"-and fight for Harry. Now, for those of you who were in Dumbledore's army last year, you will remember Harry-" she swallowed hard- "started us off with _Expelliarmus._

Ron stepped up. "Hermione and I will demonstrate," he said professionally. Hermione couldn't help but giggle as Ron tried to look like a dignified leader. He only managed to look as if he was straining to turn his ears a bright, fiery red.

Hermione faced Ron with a smile.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

The wand flew out of Ron's hand and into Hermione's. A few people clapped appreciatively. Hermione turned to Ron amused to see a scowl on his face until-

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Hermione was shot backwards as the force of the spell ripped the wand from her hand and into a grinning Ron's. She glared at him. Ron looked happily back at her.

They stared at each other for a moment, each one reveling in the other's defeat until a loud clearing of a throat interrupted them, followed by a giggle.

"Well!" said Hermione hurriedly, trying to ignore her face flushing like a tomato, "Why don't you all divide into pairs, and-"

She couldn't ignore Fred and George's smirks and obvious laughter. She tried to focus on their pupils all dividing up obediently. Despite the tragedy of her recent embarrassment Hermione couldn't help thinking that it was Harry, not her, who should be doing this…

Hermione must have stood there for awhile because Ron came up and draped an arm around her. When she looked at him he dropped it quickly and looked away, apparently fascinated by the blue wallpaper. He turned back to her with the guise of someone who had just come across her standing there.

"Harry should have been doing this," he said quietly. Hermione nodded sharply and fixed her gaze on Neville and Lavender, the former of which was trying to dig Neville out of a cushion pile. "Harry would be perfect for this. Not us."

"Harry can't save us this time, Ron," said Hermione suddenly, meeting his eyes. Ron's sad eyes gazed at her. "he was always the hero but this time, he needs to be saved. We need to save him ourselves."

Ron smiled and then, as if on instinct, put his arm around Hermione's shoulders once more. Hermione smiled at Ron who had suddenly and urgently began cheering Fred and George as they tried to hex each other.

Somehow, the weight of his clumsy arm felt right.

* * *

Severus Snape was in a towering rage.

First years dove out of his way as he charged down the corridors, throwing death glances to those who dared meet his eye.

_Him, the spy for Dumbledore, the man who stayed and reported to the old Headmaster on a daily basis, who sought to regain Lily's trust…would now pick what purebloods would be given slaves._

It was well-deserved, maybe. When he had insulted Lily by calling her a Mudblood he had just been setting up the new order that the Dark Lord had planned all along, hadn't he? Now he had gotten his wish. Mudbloods were less than dirt and he, a Half-Blood, reigned above them. Even Pure-Bloods would have ranked higher than he had he not been the Dark Lord's servant.

Blood pounded in his ears as he recalled the Dark Lord's last words to him…

"_See to it that the youngest Weasley boy gets a slave, won't you Severus?" _

How the hell did Dumbledore expect him to do this? Molly Weasley would be down his throat in seconds: not that he cared about the fat old woman, but he could hardly be expected to maintain good relations with the Order and be a Death Eater at the same time!

And then there was Harry bloody Potter, the boy who refused to be done with. Instead of just mercifully putting the boy to death he had prolonged his torture, making him a slave. Nothing less than the greatest scum on earth…he had failed Lily yet again. Her son was the slave of her killer.

Despite his despicable situation, Severus couldn't help but feel pity for the boy. He was afraid that Potter's friends had seen it when he sent them to see the boy, afraid that Potter would sense it in him. He wanted nothing more than for Potter to hate him. Unfortunately, it was becoming harder and harder to act nasty to Potter. The boy was now so lowly and pathetic that it was worthless to insult him anymore. He had sunken to something worse than a prisoner of Voldemort.

Potter's only mercy was that Voldemort did not intend to use the boy for…other intentions. The thought made his stomach turn.

Severus stopped where he was walking at Bellatrix's office. The bitch had taken to making different things for the Dark Lord, to please her heavenly Master. Now her occupation was making collars for all the new slaves. These collars would identify them as their blood status, identify their owners, and make their owners capable of punishing them with a whisper of a word.

He stopped outside her office, not wanting to go in. Trying to subdue the feeling of dread rising inside him, Snape pushed the heavy wooden door open.

At first glance it was like the house of a madwoman. Bellatrix stood at a solitary table that looked as if it could be used for torture. Leather straps and scraps of metal were everywhere; a large fire burned behind her. Her frizzed out hair gave the impression of a muggle mad scientist, and the strange song she was singing didn't help either:

"_Lick, laugh, boil and bubble,_

_My sweet metal, so much trouble_

_For the brat Mudbloods who my master hates_

_And to whom these collars will depreciate._

_They will suffer, won' t they my loves?_

_Craft and care will enslave them all,_

_I answer to the Dark Lord's every call!_

Severus stood there doing his best to assume a bored expression. Bellatrix turned around sharply, her eyes narrowing as she observed Snape.

"Ah…Snape, my favorite traitor, what may I do for you today?" she sneered. She gave him a mock drunken bow.

Severus tried to let out as little breath as possible. "I need collars for the following Mudbloods…" he said, handing her a list, "and the Dark Lord has sent me to pick up Potter's collar."

Bellatrix smiled grotesquely. Her teeth were long rotted and Severus swore he could see rot dripping off one of her molars.

"Ah yes, the Dark Lord's slave," she said proudly as if she had never fancied any idea more, "Here you are, Snape."

She placed a green collar in Severus's hand, and he burned a little as it came in contact with his skin. It appeared to be made out of snake skin. Strange dialect was curved into its boarders, and Severus noticed with distaste that Bellatrix had a copy of _Ancient Texts: Translations and Power, _on her desk. The collar was heavy and radiated power. Severus gnashed his teeth. Wasn't the damn necklace enough?

"It looks wonderful," sneered Severus. He took delight in the hurt in Bellatrix's eyes.

"Master will love it!" she hissed and Severus stepped away, recognizing the tell-tale signs of her reoccurring insanity.

"Of course he will," drawled Severus, backing out of the room. "Just as he loves you."

Severus broke out in harsh laughter as he dodged the fire poker aimed at his head and left the room. It was an old childhood habit, taunting Bellatrix but it never got old.

He broke off into a fast pace with the collar resting carefully between his hands. He had to be careful not to move it or it would burn him. Severus hated thinking what it would do to Potter if he tried to pull it off.

Severus was nearing Dark Lord's rooms when a horribly familiar noise reached his ears.

Potter was screaming bloody and it didn't sound like he was going to stop anytime soon.

Abandoning all pretenses, Snape dashed up the gargoyle's steps into the room. The Dark Lord was towering over Potter who lay screaming on the floor with both hands clamped over his scar.

The Dark Lord turned. A horrible smirk lined his face that quickly changed into a smile. Severus held out the collar to the Dark Lord, causing Potter to flinch and hide his face. He was curled into a feral position, his hands over his face.

"Please…no…" Potter moaned, and Severus had to look away so not to see the brilliant green eyes filled with tears.

"You disobeyed me, Potter," chastised the Dark Lord, shaking his finger. It was as if he was addressing a naughty child. "Don't you think I care about you? Do you think I want you to suffer every day?"

"You don't care about me, you bastard!" Potter spat, as Severus inwardly withheld a groan. The boy was just as stupid as his father. The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. Slowly, he knelt next to Potter who flinched away.

"Then who does, my boy?" whispered the Dark Lord. Potter began to shake violently, his head shaking from side to side in an attempt to say, 'no.' "Your dear godfather, Dumbledore? Your friends? They have willingly let me take mastery of you. They didn't care about you."

"No-" gasped Harry. Unknown to Severus the snake snarled, _yes. _

A wide smiled played around the edges of Voldemort's mouth. With a bony finger he reached out and tenderly touched Harry's scar. "You feel pain because you deserve it," he whispered. "You are fed because I wish you to be. Never forget that."

And then-Severus would never be quite sure whether or not he imagined it-Potter's eyes grew white and the pupils went back into his head. Potter sat up and gazed blankly at the Dark Lord with eyes of a mindless puppet, blank and strange and empty. His white eyes shone against his darkened eye sockets.

"Please forgive me," smiled the monster that was in Potter. "I will take the collar now. The snake would like me to, Master. Please let me."

Then the Dark Lord handed Potter the collar and walked away, leaving Potter and Severus alone in the room. Potter's eyes were slowly returning to normal as he slipped the shining green collar over his head and onto his neck. The green snake skin shone brightly as Harry collapsed on the floor.

Severus stood stock still, not sure what to do. A faint part of him recognized footsteps in the distance, and he realized it was his time to leave.

As he headed down the gargoyle's staircase, Potter's screams still echoing in his ears, Severus realized one strange thing.

He wasn't at all looking forward to seeing Dumbledore's reaction when he told him the news.

* * *

Oh poor, poor Harry :( I kind of feel bad for him while writing this. XD

Reviews would be great!


	6. Hypnotized

I KNOW...so quick!!! Cause of all your lovely reviews (and a little free time helps, too.) Please enjoy!

Chapter 6: Hypnotized

* * *

***

Voldemort hadn't killed him yet. And in some strange, sick way, Harry was thankful.

_What was wrong with him?_

_

* * *

  
_

Two days had passed since Harry's journey to Hogwarts. It had been morning when Harry woke up in his bed to find a snake-like collar around his neck. He had woken up because the collar was burning him. After a short trip to the mirror he realized with shock that his neck was covered in angry welts.

Instead of feeling angry, Harry felt strangely nonchalant about the whole thing. It was as if someone or something in his mind had agreed to take this latest symbol of his submission to Voldemort. Carefully he tugged at it, trying to find leeway but it remained as tight as ever. With a sigh Harry walked over to his dresser and began to pull on his robes.

The previous night he had tried to test Voldemort's patience. Predictably, Voldemort had become enraged and somehow Harry had landed on the floor screaming.

He had trashed his room the night before. Harry knew this would enrage Voldemort and was of course right: the Dark Lord took no time in teaching Harry his place.

_It didn't help that I called him Tom, either, _groaned Harry, automatically putting a hand over his lungs, which were raw from the pain they had underwent the night before.

Harry shook his head, feeling unnerved. It was horrible enough to be in Voldemort's hands without getting used to the torture Voldemort dished out almost daily. True enough, he'd been a captive long enough to be resistant to a lot of the pain but he never before thought of it as just another part of the day.

_Master was right to punish you, _hissed the familiar voice in his head.

"Shut up," Harry mumbled as he pulled on some robes. The voice in his head was now permanent and Harry knew it wasn't going away. Ever since that night in the dungeon where he was taken before Voldemort and given the necklace the snake had risen in his mind. He felt it most when he was close to Voldemort. Harry took comfort in knowing that the snake wasn't Voldemort attempting to possess him; if it was then the snake would identify itself as him.

Harry didn't want to admit, let alone to himself that he was beginning to be afraid of the snake in his head. He had briefly wondered if he was going insane but dismissed the idea. The snake was only present when he was around Voldemort: whenever Voldemort left, the snake would fade.

Strangely enough Harry hadn't felt the effects of losing his magic as much as he thought he would. Although he missed the comfort of a wand he felt that in some strange way his magic stayed with him through the strange connection he shared with Voldemort. Still, it was horrible to feel helpless: Harry relayed the feeling to a Hermione without knowledge: incomplete.

Smiling at the thought of his friends he headed out the door. His collar glistened around his neck as Harry walked into the kitchen. Automatically, he began pulling ingredients towards him and started cooking. Steam rose in the kitchen in waves, filling the air with aroma.

It was easy to lose himself in the art of cooking as he had so often done at the Dursley's. Today, however, the spices were reminded him of the Hogwarts kitchens and the food they gave to the students. Harry imagined the old trio sitting at the table.

_Harry smiled as he saw Ron and Hermione in his mind. They were smiling and holding hands at the table in the Great Hall. The three of them were all eating breakfast. _

"_Hermione, put that book down!" Ron was saying._

_Hermione glared at him. "It's none of your business what I read, Ronald," she snapped. "Eat your breakfast, not that you need to."_

"_What does that mean?!" Ron shouted, so loudly that the nearby neighbors stared and the two resumed their bickering._

_Harry thoughtlessly stirred the meal he was cooking, reveling in his friends' old habits. Never before had he longed to see Ron and Hermione fight-the experience was always unpleasant. _

A cold voice cut into his thoughts.

"I am waiting, Harry," said the high, clear voice and Harry took the tray to his Master.

* * *

Voldemort had to admit he was enjoying himself immensely as of late. Everything had turned around when his minions had finally been successful and had managed to capture Potter and the Prophecy in the Department of Mysteries.

Neither can live while the other survives…exactly why he planned to make sure that only _one _would live in Potter. Voldemort smiled.

The boy came in with his head bent and served him his breakfast. With a slight distaste Voldemort noticed the meat was slightly cooked and the biscuits free of the usual spice he liked in them. He looked up and Potter was standing there waiting nervously, twisting his fingers together.

"Acceptable, Potter," he said and Potter fled from the room leaving the kitchen door banging shut behind him. With glee he saw Potter's hand clamped tightly to his scar. His plan was working well. Voldemort smiled and took a bite of meat.

_It was easy, really,_ Voldemort thought as he ate. So many victims of his before Harry had ended up worshiping him and loving him. Many had become Death Eaters. If it wasn't for Harry's soul, he wouldn't need the snake-connection at all. The boy had already started to break. He knew because Potter feared him.

Voldemort was well aware of the Weasley boy's visit. He had chosen to let the boy visit Potter, to show Potter how much of a danger he really was to his friends. They were all pawns in his chess game and Voldemort as the king had the power to kill the ones Potter loved most.

By giving Potter his own room and by warding it he had made sure Potter was in complete solitude. The brat was alone almost all the time, save for Voldemort and the occasional House-Elf. The snake coiling in Harry's mind, their connection was helping Harry realize that only Voldemort could be his companion, his Master.

Voldemort realized that he had to take the boy somewhere, and soon. Harry would not florish as much as he needed him to in solitary conditions. He needed to have the boy with him at all times. With a flick of his wand Harry's door flew open. It revealed a very shocked looking Potter who was sitting on his bed staring at Voldemort.

"Come," said Voldemort quietly and Potter rose slowly and walked towards him, fear blazing in his eyes.

"_Go to Master," _Voldemort heard the snake purr inside Harry's mind. Voldemort noted with satisfaction that instead of shaking the voice off as he had done for the past few days he had nodded and stopped before Voldemort.

"_Your flesh and blood," _hissed the snake once more, _"your true Master calls you. Do as he wishes, Harry." _

Harry stared at the ground. _"I have no choice," _he spoke back and Voldemort was amusedly aware that Potter did not know he was in on the conversation.

"_He has not killed you yet, has he? Has he not proven to you in magic and in our connection that he will not harm you, that he is your true Master? Am I not trustworthy to you, Harry? Have I not kept your friends safe by giving you good advice?"_

"_Yes, you have," _murmured Harry. Voldemort waited with a smile and then said, with a gleeful smile on his face,

"I am glad you have decided to join me, Harry," said Voldemort. He reached for a bowl of sweets beside him and held it out to Harry. Harry stared at him as if he had just told him to eat a giant cockroach. "Won't you have one, child?"

Bristling slightly at being called 'child', Harry took one. He stared at it suspiciously.

"It is not poison," said Voldemort, annoyed.

Slowly Harry put it in his mouth, savoring the sweet. He looked at Voldemort in confusion.

Suddenly Voldemort grabbed his collar, making Harry choke in pain. Without warning he had attached a shining silver leash to the collar and pulled it towards him. Harry instinctively pulled back but Voldemort pulled him closer. Potter's gasp was not missed. A large smirk spread slowly across Voldemort's face.

With a flash Voldemort pulled out a heavy book from the shelf behind him. Harry stared, still massaging his swollen neck.

"Read to me," said Voldemort soothingly. Harry picked up the book with trembling hands and began to read, anger leaking into his words as he read out the title:

_Mudbloods and their Infection of Wizarding Kind_

Voldemort was pleased to hear that Harry did not make a retort. He simply turned to the first page and began to read, fighting to keep his voice steady.

_After all, he did give you that sweet, _the snake cooed, and Harry nodded to himself as he read out the words coated with hatred.

Surprisingly enough Harry didn't mind being out of his room and with Voldemort. The leash had frightened him at first: it was like being treated like a dog. A memory flashed in his head of Aunt Marge giving him dog biscuits. _Not far from that now, _Harry thought bitterly.

He still hated Voldemort with every ounce of his resolve but sometimes he felt more at ease when he was near Voldemort and the snake was guiding him. The snake knew exactly what angered Voldemort and what Harry should do to avoid angering him. It knew the consequences that his friends would undergo should they try anything rash. In some way, the snake was becoming his friend.

And Voldemort…Voldemort hadn't killed him yet. He'd tortured him, yes, but not to the extent he used to. He'd even given Harry a sweet. And in some strange, sick way, Harry was thankful.

_What was wrong with him?_

Harry still longed for his friends but not in the way he used to. He knew being around them would put them in even more danger. Instead, he focused his attentions on making sure Voldemort was pleased with everthing he did: everything from cooking to sitting at his feet attentively to not straining on his leash. Voldemort _hated _that, and Harry was strictly punished for any resistance.

However, Voldemort never lost the chance to remind Harry just how much power he had over him and others.

One night Harry was in his room reading one of Voldemort's more interesting novels-_Dark Arts in Modern History, _which was full of entertaining spells (one of which involved hanging the victim by his leg in mid-air) when loud screaming was outside his room. Filled with curiousity, Harry got up and snuck out the door.

He pulled his black cloack tight around his shining green collar and tiptoed down the hallway towards the screaming. Coming closer, he realized it was Bellatrix.

"_FOOL!" _screamed Voldemort and Harry realized with a shock that it was Bellatrix, withering on the floor and crying. "How dare you publicize the existence of the Prophecy to the Order, when you were fighting them-"

"Master, I beg your forgiveness!" Bellatrix sobbed, cradling her head in her arms, "I only wanted to remind them of your power, My Lord-"

"You insolent brat," snarled Voldemort and Harry realized with a jump that this was a name Voldemort often called him. "Do you know the measures I have taken to keep that a secret? Now it is all for nothing. I should kill you now," he sneered, as Bellatrix let out a fresh sob and covered her face with her hands.

"Crucio!"

And then there was screaming and Harry's stomach threatened to upset itself as he ran down the corridor into his room and slammed the door.

_Master is powerful, _breathed the snake in fascination. _Don't you agree, Harry? _

"SHUT UP!" roared Harry and swiped at an invisible enemy. He buried his face in the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.

_Mum…Dad…help me…Ron, Hermione, Sirius…help me! He's going to kill me!_

"_Only Master," _said the snake quietly. It wrapped its coils around him comfortably. "_Only Master, or he will kill the rest."_

Harry realized the truth of the snake's words and embraced the snake back, his shaking fingers tracing the scales on his emerald collar. He was all alone except for the snake, and Voldemort.

There was only one power that remained to him. All the rest had been swept away and as the snake constantly reminded him-rightfully taken away. He could save his friends by being servile and not angering Voldemort while finding a way to escape.

"Only Voldemort," he whispered, and the snake was satisfied.

The green potion on the bedside table glowed softly in the darkness pressing on Harry.

* * *

The next afternoon, Harry walked out to where Voldemort was sitting in his armchair. Closing his eyes he waited for Voldemort to clip his leash on and was rewarded with a soft, 'click.'

Voldemort looked at him fondly, as if observing a pet. With a spider-like hand he ran his fingers through Harry's hair, tossling it. Harry shivered. Voldemort's red eyes danced with malevolent laughter.

"What are you reading today?" Harry asked with honest curiosity. He could at least make these sessions interesting for himself by the literature Voldemort read.

Voldemort looked at him with a smile. Harry felt invisible fingers creep up his skin; something in the look was strange and unnatural.

"Oh, I'm writing quite an interesting book, actually," he said quietly. "It should be interesting to you as well."

Without a moment's pause, Voldemort handed the book to Harry. Tentatively, Harry took the velvet bound book and opened it to the first page.

_Chapter 1: The Deaths of the Traitors Pure-Bloods: The Potters.  
_

Then a rage so intense which he had never felt before boiled inside him and he was screaming and Voldemort was laughing as he tried to run away and his collar held him back. Fresh tears were streaming down his cheeks as he strained to get away, his neck bursting with painful boils and burns. Voldemort was smiling and waiting calmly for Harry to stop his escape attempt. He had taken back the book and was writing again, the black quill dancing up and down the page.

_My parents…_Harry thought frantically, _My parents…_

The snake was silent, subdued by some invisible force.

"Quite finished?" smirked Voldemort as Harry lay on the ground panting, tears running down his cheeks. "I shall be glad to hear it, for I have somewhere interesting to take you today."

Forgetting the horrible book Harry sat up, alight with interest. In all his days of captivity Voldemort had not allowed him to explore anywhere. "Where?" he asked, trying to hide his excitement.

Voldemort paused, taunting Harry with the wait. "To see my new reign," he finally answered. "It shall not be the last of our excursions, provided that your behavior is one of a proper slave in my society. Even your…friends may be included in our later visits," and his wide smile told Harry that there would be no visiting them alone.

A raw, desperate hope had grown inside Harry's chest. "Really?" he asked in a small voice, trying not to betray how much he wanted to see his friends.

"Of course," said Voldemort smoothly, patting his head. Harry did not resist. "Lord Voldemort awards loyalty and submission by those under him. You, Potter, are no different."

And with that Voldemort stood up and led him out of the room. Harry's groomer was waiting to make sure the Dark Lord's slave was in perfect condition.

* * *

Unknown to Harry, Ron and Hermione as well as the other Weasleys were home for holiday break. This 'holiday' was a day respecting the Pure-Blood families of the nation. All students were allowed the weekend off to spend with their families. Enslaved Mudbloods were made to spend it with their captors, however, and Ron thanked all that was good in the world that Snape had prolonged the announcing of the new slaves. Something told him that either he or Hermione would be picked to participate in this horrific affair.

Attendance at Hogwarts was now mandatory and if the students didn't show up, Voldemort would make sure they did. So it was made sure by Mrs. Weasley and the Order that the children returned to school every year. As long as they behaved themselves well, they reasoned, they would be perfectly safe.

Now they were at Grimmauld Place once more and Ron was having a good dream that involved spiders that turned into butterflies with a flick of his wand. He smiled in his sleep as he banished the hairy arachnids into nothing.

Then the spider spoke.

"Ron! Wake up!"

"Wha..?" mumbled Ron, pulling the pillow over his head.

"Ron! We're going to miss the Order Meeting! Fred and George are waiting with the Extendable Ears," Hermione said urgently.

"Oh, that," said Ron and he hurried to pull on his dressing robes, tripping over his bed slippers. Hermione glared at him in disapproval, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Hurry up, or we're going to miss the whole thing!" she whispered, turning and dashing out of the room. Ron finished pulling on his bathrobe and followed her.

As expected there was Fred and George waiting with the Extendable Ears. Ginny was there too, clad in a pink fluffy bathrobe. They all pressed their fingers to their lips as Ron approached.

"I wasn't going to say anything-!" he said hotly and was 'shhed!' by the lot of them.

Ron took an extendable ear wordlessly offered to him by George and they listened closely to the Order Meeting going on below.

"Severus, your report?"

"Yes, Headmaster," drawled Snape and the five of them flinched as they heard the too familiar nasal voice, "I was sent to give…Potter a certain artifact." They could hear the stillness down the stairs.

"And what was that?" asked Sirius urgently.

"If you must know, Black, a collar," said Snape coldly. Ron looked over at Hermione and saw that her hand had flown to her mouth. The other three's faces had turned to stone.

Sirius said nothing, although they thought they could hear a strange gasping noise. They could imagine Dumbledore's face narrowing.

"Please continue, Severus."

"As you wish, Headmaster." The Order still called each other by their names used at the school although they were no longer staff there. "I came to his rooms when I heard loud screaming. Naturally, I rushed upstairs only to find Potter under the Cruciatus Curse.

"And you did nothing?" interrupted Sirius loudly, scraping chair against the floor. Snape merely said nothing. "You let my godson be tortured? You-"

"Sirius!" said Dumbledore sharply. "Sit down. Severus has done all in his power to keep Harry safe, and more. Now, unless you wish to leave take your seat and maintain your silence until he is finished." There was another scraping of the chair as Sirius plopped down into his seat with a huff.

"Anyway," drawled Snape in obvious amusement, " The Dark Lord was angry with him for something. Then…he told Potter he was alive because he wished him to be. He touched the boy's scar and…the boy's eyes turned completely white as if he was being possessed. A strange voice that was not the Dark Lord's nor Potter's took over and accepted the collar from me. Potter placed the collar over his own head. He said, if I recall-" he paused, noting the shocked faces of his colleagues- "That the 'snake' would like him to take it."

There was a long silence from both the Order and the eavesdroppers upstairs. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"This, unfortunately, confirms a lot of my suspicions," said Dumbledore sadly. "Voldemort has more planned than just humiliating Harry by making him his slave. The necklace and the snake confirms it."

He took a deep breath and in their mind's eye they could see Dumbledore looking around, his lined face laced with sorrow.

"Harry, according to the Prophecy that Bellatrix has so kindly told us, is subject to this: _Neither can live while the other survives._Of course, one might think of Voldemort but in this case it pertains solely to Harry."

They had all grown very still, the answers they had so long wondered about coming suddenly to light. Ron was hardly breathing.

"Harry, with his ability to speak Parseltongue and to enter Voldemort's mind has a part of Voldemort buried deep inside him, the nature of which I am not sure of. When they are in close proximity to each other the connection goes stronger. It has always been resisted, however, by Harry's love for his friends and family as well as his magic. Now that his magic is suppressed the connection is the only magic left in Harry and is growing stronger. I fear eventually that the side of Voldemort that is in Harry will continue to make reappearances and will begin to influence him. He might become completely controlled at one point."

Molly Weasley let out a sharp gasp, and there was a clattering of chairs as many Order members had risen to comfort her. Muttering had broken out among the Order.

"Let me finish, please," said Dumbledore calmly. "It is disturbing, yes, but we must keep our heads in this event.

Harry becoming Voldemort's slave is no mistake of Voldemort's. By being subservient to Voldemort his soul is, in turn, literally succumbing to Voldemort's wishes and command."

"Please, Dumbledore," whispered Sirius harshly, "isn't there any way to save him?"

"We can't simply let the boy stay there," said Emmeline Vance. "Surely we can think of a rescue plan."

"He's going to be traumatized by this," came a deep voice that they recognized as Kingsley's. "The boy will never recover."

"Harry is stronger than you may think," said Dumbledore. "If Harry had completely broken and his soul completely taken over we would know: Voldemort would have a lifeless shell that he would keep alive….for his own purposes."

Dumbledore obviously had his suspicions on what exactly the 'soul' in Harry really was but did not share it.

"Now, you discuss rescue plans. Such rescue plans would be pointless-the connection between the two would be strong that if we were to rescue him, Harry would only attract Voldemort to wherever we placed him. Eventually, Harry would seek to return to Voldemort.

There is a way, however to save him. It involves something that I am not willing to do at this point and I doubt any of you will ever be. One step involves breaking the necklace around his neck and quite possibly the collar as well.

The other," said Dumbledore, and his voice grew quiet as he spoke, "Involves..."

"What, Dumbledore?" Sirius croaked, evidently goaded past endurance. "What can I do to save him? I'll do anything…anything at all."

Dumbledore swallowed hard, and spoke. "Killing Harry Potter."

* * *

Reviews would be awesome. =]


	7. Destined

First of all, thank you for all your reviews! I swear I got a little teary after reading them :P You guys are the best. I also really appreciate ideas that people have suggested for the story-they do help me out!

However, it did seem that some people were confused about a few things. As some things are admittedly a little confusing, I'm going to clear a few things up. If you want to figure stuff out for yourself please skip this section.

I just want to mention that I made my story line more detailed and that this chapter is not going to be so gruesome as the other ones. (We have to give poor Harry a break sometime)

* * *

Guide (and slight spoilers)

This story takes place the year after book 5. As we know, Dumbledore suspects that Voldemort has created Horcruxes. Dumbledore figured out himself last chapter (and not yet told the Order the entire story) that Harry has a piece of Voldemort's soul in him, thereby making him a Horcrux. By Dumbledore's reasoning Voldemort knows that Harry is a Horcrux and because of this Voldemort has thereby done three things:

1) he has made sure Harry is a 'slave' to him, intensifying the affect Voldemort has over the part of his soul in Harry's: the Horcrux in Harry is recognizing Voldemort as the dominant figure. (Voldemort's also a sadistic bastard which is part of the reason Harry is his 'slave.')

2) He has subdued Harry's magic which again intensifies their connection.

3) In order for Harry to no longer be a threat to Voldemort, the soul piece in Harry needs to take over Harry completely.

The 'snake' that Harry keeps on hearing in his head is the connection between Harry and Voldemort. It is activated when they are in close proximity to one another. As Harry starts to give into the snake the Horcrux is growing stronger, making him more likely to give into Voldemort's demands.

There is also another component to the story other than magic that leads Harry to give into his captor. Voldemort is manipulating Harry in several ways. This is an actual psychological condition which I am using to partially determine Harry's actions throughout the story.

I hope this helped. If anyone has anymore questions, please ask.

On to the story!

* * *

Chapter 7: Destined

***

_"Great security, Dumbledore," grumbled Moody, getting up and turning from the room."We might just as well put a sign on the door telling the Death Eaters that there's free food and wine inside, too."_

_***  
_

Dumbledore calmly looked around at the petrified faces of his colleagues. McGonagall looked like she wanted to tear something apart with her hands, Sirius looked as if someone had smacked him in the face and Snape looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be happy or not.

The four who were eavesdropping had frozen in place, with the exception of Ron's hand twitching inexplicably towards his wand.

Silence hung in the air for several minutes, in which Dumbledore smiled and twirled his fingers. He looked up after a moment to see everyone's face in the exact same position as it was before.

"Lemon Drop?" he asked pleasantly, reaching into his pocket. "I'm sure I have a few around here somewhere."

"You…" Dumbledore looked to the far corner of the room to see Sirius, who was sputtering, "How can you…even say that?"

Kingsley was shaking his head, his handsome face narrowed in concentration. "What on earth would we gain by that, Dumbledore? Killing the boy wouldn't do anything for us at all."

Moody growled, stamping his long cane on the floor. "You're mad, Dumbledore," he said hoarsely. "Mad…completely mad."

But Mrs. Weasley had stood up, and her face was flushed and red and angry as she stood up and faced Dumbledore. Instead of cowering he looked calmly back at her. "How dare you!" she shrieked, brandishing her wand at the former headmaster.

Dumbledore looked wary. "Please, Molly," he said, "Let me explain."

"I will not let you kill the boy who is like a son to me!" she screeched. The Order members winced as one as she raged. "You've already abandoned him to those monsters and he probably thinks that we don't care for him anymore! But I do, and if you don't-"

"Molly!" said Dumbledore harshly. She fell silent at once, tears dripping down her face.

"I will explain," he said quietly. With one hand he stroked his great beard and with the other adjusted his half-moon glasses. His blue eyes were pale and sad. "I would never suggest such a thing were there another solution. Since Harry's soul is partially invaded by Voldemort's there is no other way to extract the piece of soul inside him. However," he said hurriedly as Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth, "There is a possibility that firing the Killing Curse at Harry Potter would not kill him. If the two souls were separate enough, that is, if Harry's soul piece was untrained and untarnished by Voldemort as it was before his captivity, it would be possible to only kill Voldemort's soul in Harry and not Harry himself."

Silence pressed on their ears, and they drew breath as Dumbledore spoke once more.

"You may ask why I have not done this already, for it is almost too late to save him now. It is because I only recognized the nature of Harry's predicament recently, as…I made a few discoveries."

He seemed reluctant to say any more, but the Order's attention was obviously not on Dumbledore's mysterious doings.

Sirius stood up. He most closely resembled the prisoner they had seen nearly three years before, with unwashed hair and a heavy, unshaven face. His eyes were lined with shadows that came from nights without sleep.

"Why do you say we need to separate his soul from Voldemort's, Dumbledore?" said Sirius harshly, giving Dumbledore an accusing glare. "Harry would never let Voldemort take him over. He would never give in to the Dark Side."

It was not Dumbledore who opened his mouth but Remus Lupin. Given that it was not the full moon he was well groomed, but his eyes bore the same signs of sleeplessness that Sirius' did. He cleared his throat and looked around nervously. "I think I can speak most accurately that when we are under certain situations our minds are not our own. Harry's still a good wizard, Sirius," he said quickly, "but as we have seen he has already partially given his soul to Voldemort, voluntarily or not. It is essential that we keep this in mind."

Sirius didn't seem to know what to say. His heavy eyes glared at Lupin as he slowly took his seat.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Excellent point, Remus," he said slowly. "Now this begs the question of what to do-"

"I say we rescue the boy," growled Moody, his swiveling eye taking in everyone around him. He jumped as Snape stood up and spoke.

"Rescuing Potter will not be an easy feat, the Dark Lord has him under lock and key, with the strongest protections around him-"

"I can work on disabling the wards," squeaked Flitwick, the former Charms professor, "It should not be hard. The main problem will be taking down-"

"Voldemort's army, yes," said McGonagall. Her pointed face was flushed and her hat askew in rare excitement. "It should not be difficult if we are able to rally up enough wizards."

"Agreed, Minerva," said Dumbledore happily. "We are already recruiting new people to the Order. As Voldemort takes over Europe gradually he is foolishly giving us more followers. There are many witches and wizards in eager need for protection-which we can gladly give them in return for their assistance."

There was much nodding and some scribbling as some Order members took notes.

"Of course, then there is the matter of using the Killing Curse once Harry is rescued and his soul is adequately untarnished," said Dumbledore.

"He'll think we've turned on him," muttered Sirius, "he'll think we've betrayed him."

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "It may be so," he said. "Especially since all his hopes of survival most likely revolve around the Order saving him. His saviors becoming his apparent murders would not be most reassuring to him." he said.

McGonagall stood up. "Then we must take care to keep it a secret from Potter," she said tightly. "It is for his own good."

Dumbledore nodded at her but seemed reluctant to say any more. There was a brief silence and then he opened his mouth once more. And now," said Dumbledore with a gleam in his eye, "Let us see if some of our-er-younger members can help us with Harry."

With a flash the old wizard had aimed his wand at the balcony where Ron, Hermione, Fred, George and Ginny were standing. Hermione screamed as the door burst open and they were reveled to the shocked and angry looking Order, the most of which was an enraged Molly Weasley.

"Er…Hi, Mum" said Ron quietly, his ears turning a violent red. Fred and George's faces fell as they looked to their father for support but were met with angry eyes. Hermione's face resembled a tomato, while Ginny was the only one standing there defiantly.

"They seem eager to help, so why not use them?" asked Dumbledore cheerily to a stone- faced Order.

"Great security, Dumbledore," grumbled Moody, getting up and turning from the room. "Sixteen year olds can eavesdrop on our secret plans. We might just as well put a sign on the door telling the Death Eaters that there's free food and wine inside, too."

"We're not Death Eaters-" Ginny started hotly, but a death glare from her mother silenced her.

"Of course you aren't," said Moody hotly, "but the obvious lack of security will be the death of us all. Just you wait!" he snarled, striding to the door and slamming it shut behind him.

"Well!" exclaimed Dumbledore through the thick silence, clasping his hands together. "Our apparent lack in security has lead to a good thing, after all. Now that you know what is going on, I can enlist you. You four will be charged with the task of helping Harry remember who his friends are, and what he used to fight for."

Many of the Order's angry faces melted at these words. Mrs. Weasley, however, still looked angry.

"You will not put my children in more danger, Dumbledore!"

"No more danger than they already in, Molly," said Dumbledore calmly, and she flushed. "Only to connect with Harry: when he is available, of course. Be his friend, remind him that you are there for him-fighting for him-and remind him of whom he is."

Snape was rolling his eyes as if he was the only genius in a room full of idiots.

"It won't work," he drawled slowly, obviously enjoying the look on Sirius's face, "the Dark Lord will have taken measures to ensure his friends do not get close to him."

Dumbledore smiled, much to Snape's obvious shock. "It may not be that way, Severus," he said happily, "Voldemort will"-he ignored the order flinching, "not give up the opportunity to show Harry what he's lost. He will let him visit his friends to remind him just of how much has been taken away from him. That, I think, is our greatest weapon."

He turned again to them, his blue eyes twinkling. "We will be depending on you. Now: I think your mother has a few words to say to you," he said to the Weasleys, who were looking cautiously at their furious mother, "Off you go!"

They quickly left the room, not missing the sound of Dumbledore casting sound wards behind him. Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore had left them out on purpose.

As soon as they were out of the room, Mrs. Weasley rounded on them. Her three boys flinched violently.

"Completely out of line!" she shouted, "Eavesdropping on an Order meeting! Extra chores for you all and I will be talking to your father! And Hermione," she added and Hermione drew back in fear, "I can't punish you but I wish you would rethink doing such things. You are such a smart child and you don't need to be at their level!" She shot her children an venomous glance.

"Mum, we're your kids!" shouted Fred and George angrily.

"And I wish you'd be more responsible!" she shouted, and in her fury she looked like a madwoman. "These are dangerous times, it's no time to be fooling around and the Order needs to maintain its secrecy! You could be putting Harry at risk, the lives of the Order at risk! If one of you were caught and questioned-"

They all looked at the ground, ashamed. The door behind them opened and they all looked around to see Sirius standing at the doorway, tired but looking happier than they had seen him in awhile.

"Now that we've gotten that all sorted out," he said with forced cheerfulness, "How about a visit to the park tomorrow?" When they all stared at him, he added, "I thought it might be good for us to get away from this for awhile and reflect."

To their surprise, Mrs .Weasley beamed at him. "Of course!" she exclaimed, "It will be healthy to get away from all this for awhile." She glared at her children. "What park are you thinking of, Sirius?"

Sirius looked relieved at her reaction. "The one south of here," he said. "Near the river. I will ward it so we need not worry about any attack."

"Perfect," said Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley passed by in the hallway, darting across Mrs. Weasley's path and practically sprinting up the stairs. Mrs. Weasley looked sheepish for a moment, but then she regained her stern expression and looked at the five of them. "Don't think I've forgotten about what you've done. You'll still have those chores later," she said sternly, ignoring their groans. "Now off you trot!"

They headed up the stairs in silence, not daring to speak. The five of them went up to the old room were Buckbeak had once stayed and where Harry had once sulked in silence. The room was dark and cold and smelled like wet animal. They wrinkled their noses as they walked in.

Ginny drew her wand. "Lumos," she murmured, and her wandtip lit. Silently she conjured a small bluebell fire and put it in a conjured glass jar.

They needed not to worry about doing magic out of school as they were Pure-Blood and therefore unlimited. Hermionie sat in silence and watched Ginny as she set up the flames, a strange expression on her face. They sat down on the hay bales as if sitting down to a grave discussion.

Fred spoke first.

"Oh God, Harry," he whispered, letting his head fall into his hands. At his words, Ginny's eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"Ginny!" exclaimed Ron, shocked. It was very rare to see Ginny cry. When upset she either lashed out or stayed silent. Ron remembered the last time she had cried:when she had fallen from her toy broomstick at two years of age. When her brothers had teased her about it, she had promptly bitten them each on the arm leading them to run bawling towards the house.

She seemed determined to look away from their concerned faces. "I just…" she muttered.

"It's hard to hear, I know," said Ron softly, putting a hand on his shoulder. Fred and George looked surprised to see Ron's unusual tact. Many things had changed since Voldemort's takeover and Ron was not as insensitive as he once was. They had all changed.

"He'll be alright," said Hermione in forced cheerfulness, and there was an understanding in her eyes that only Ginny understood.

Ron shook his head, his eyes tortured. "You should've seen him..." he muttered. They all looked at him in alarm. "I...I went to go see him the first night he was brought in."

Hermione nearly fell off her chair. "Ron, you didn't!" she cried.

"I did," said Ron stubbornly. "And I'm glad I did. He...he looked lost. He was afraid."

They fell silent for a moment. "Harry was never afraid of Voldemort," Ginny said at last.

"I know," said Hermione sadly, "but...think about it. How would you feel if you were in the hands of a murderer? I'm guessing that Harry learned not to rebel."

"He wants to stay alive," said Ginny, and her voice shook. "People...will do anything to stay alive, even if it means doing the worst things possible."

Fred looked up. "Did you hear what they were saying about…"

"Killing Harry?" asked George. The four of them nodded.

"He'll think we're betraying him," muttered Ron. "He'll never know that we want to kill…kill Voldemort."

Hermione stood up, determination in her eyes. "We can't let Voldemort get to him!" she cried suddenly. "We have to remind him that no matter what we're his friends and even if…" she swallowed hard, "even if he falls into Voldemort's trap, we have to stay strong."

George looked up suddenly. "I don't think I can take any more of this," he said quietly and made to leave the room.

"Wait up, bro," called Fred. He stood up and embraced his twin, who was hiding his face. "If we want to act like Harry's friends we need to be like we were before…we need to have hope. No more talking about this stuff, alright? Tomorrow we'll have a good time and relax and forget about it until later, okay?"

They all nodded. George gave a stiff nod and left the room. Silence pressed onto them, and the bluebell flame flickered out as they followed him out the door.

* * *

Before they knew it the sun had risen and the busy sounds of the Muggle street reached their ears. Groaning and yawning, they all rose and went down to breakfast.

Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Sirius and Remus were waiting for them when they came down. Sirius grinned when he saw the five yawning teenagers.

"Wake up!" he said jubilantly and they noticed that he was in the middle of packing a picnic basket for them all. Mrs. Weasley shoved plates under their noses.

"Mum," complained Ron as she handed him his, "You know I hate eggs,"

"Quiet, Ronald," lectured his mother. "You know they are good for you-you are much too pudgy on the cheek." She pinched his cheek affectionately and turned.

Ron turned around to see the others covering their mouths in laughter.

"Shut up!" he hissed angrily. Hermione grinned at him.

"Mum says eat up, Ronald," she said haughtily, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth, "You'll get sick if you don't."

Laughing, she dodged Ron's playful shove. Sirius came into the room, beaming. He was disguised-wearing a short raggy wig and oversized clothes. It made him look even more ragged than usual but he didn't seem to be bothered.

"Let's go!" he exclaimed and ran out the door like an excited child. They knew it had been long since he had been allowed by Dumbledore to leave Grimmauld Place.

Yawning and grumbling to themselves, they set out the door into the sunshine.

It was a magnificent day and the sun was high in the sky. Not a cloud was in sight and the grass whipped about their ankles as they headed into the greener part of the area, away from the busy Muggle city.

Fred and George seemed happy to be outside and free, and they joked along with Sirius as they walked. Ginny walked behind them while occasionally giving opinionated views on their jokes.

To Hermione's surprise, Ron walked next to her. She was glad to see his face was calm and untroubled. For many weeks his face had been lined and heavy, like the face of someone who was constantly in mourning. The sunlight upon his face lit up the freckles dotting his cheeks. His violent red hair was tinted with gold.

Hermione smiled at him without thinking and was surprised to see that he was looking back at her. His blue eyes were admiring her as she was him. Her heart began to beat a little faster. Quite suddenly she remembered the times they were together when they snuck out of the Death Eater's views and all the things she had thought then-

"I'm hungry," said Ron bluntly out of nowhere and she had to laugh.

"You just ate, what are you, a horse?" she admonished him.

"At least I eat," Ron retorted, smirking.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked him sharply.

"I don't spend my time reading instead of living, breathing and eating-" his words were cut off by a gasp from Hermione who had suddenly tackled him from behind. They fell over and rolled down the hill they were climbing. A shocked moment, and then they were rolling down the hill, laughing and screaming and all of a sudden she had forgotten everything-

Ron had pulled up a handful of grass and had thrown it at her face and she quickly responded in turn, adding some mud to the mix. _It was completely stupid_, she thought, _and Harry would hate them fighting. _But she was laughing and Ron was laughing and she loved the way the sun looked on his skin and his blue eyes were staring into hers as they stood still, and the grass fell from his limp hand-

Then he was too close to her and she was staring into his eyes: the whistling wind was silent, the trees fell still and all she knew was Ron, and how much she loved the look of his eyes…

After what felt like seconds, he drew away. "Let's go." Hermione laughed as Ron pulled her up from the ground into an embrace. Her head light and airy right against his warm chest as they hugged each other. Ron was beaming as they ran through the meadow together, laughing. They had forgotten the others who were setting up the picnic basket and enjoying themselves. It was only she and Ron, and she could not stop the big grin spreading upon her face as they ran, careless and stupid and free.

Voldemort was lost to them. The cold confines of the castle that had restrained them for so long was broken. In the beautiful park they were themselves, and Hermione's heart soared higher than it ever had. At long last she was happy, and all that was missing was Harry there to enjoy their happiness with them.

Silently she swore to herself that he would be there one day to enjoy it with them.

For now, however, she had Ron, and her heart soared as he led her through an eternal day of bliss.

* * *

Reviews are always appreciated =] Hope you enjoyed it.


	8. Unknown

Thanks for all the reviews, they were great! Sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 8: Unknown

* * *

_"Didn't Dumbledore ever teach you how to fight in combat?"_

_The boy shook his head slowly. Voldemort snorted._

_"How did he ever expect you to defeat me?_

_

* * *

_

It was a bitterly cold day, and Fiona Aston's phone had died.

_Great, _she thought bitterly, stuffing the phone back into her pocket. Glasgow, Scotland had never been so cold and empty as it was she was alone without any means of communication. She scowled, thrusting the phone back into her pocket. At least her boyfriend wouldn't be able to call her as he'd been doing constantly for the past few days.

Her platinum blonde hair was covered by a fashionable red hat and her thin, fancy coat did nothing to keep the howling wind away. Fiona rushed into the empty store, shivering and swearing. Her friends had ditched on her at the last minute, making up stupid excuses about having to help cook dinner and do homework.

She scoffed. Fiona knew that no one wanted to go outside nowadays. There was a strange aura in the city: an aura of fear and uncertainty. People were whispering that their neighbors had been there one day and not the next.

She could almost hear her mother screeching, "And you know your father's old friend: gone! Not a trace of where he went! Don't go outside, Fiona!"

Fiona smirked to herself. It was probably just some stupid rumor, and she knew that rumors spread fast in this city. _Nothing to be afraid of. _Despite this, she couldn't help shivering as she looked around at the empty clothing shops and the dusty streets.

She looked up and saw that the fashion store she was in was empty save for the clerk. Smiling despite her sudden, inexplicable anxiety, Fiona took off her hat and proceeded to look at the articles of clothing lying untouched in the store. The store clerk gave her an uneasy look through thick spectacles.

It was stupid, really, how people were so afraid, she thought to herself, browsing through some shirts. Fiona was a teenager with no fear: she did everything that everyone else was afraid of doing. She was one of the popular girls at her school and proudly so. Her face was plastic and beautiful, and her long nose was turned slightly downwards as if patronizing some invisible victim.

Fiona had been one of the only people not to pretend to be unnerved at the sudden disappearances and strange aura around the normally bustling city. She had laughed when her friends had expressed their uneasiness. No one scared Fiona Aston, and some silly rumor wouldn't change that.

Fiona walked over to a bright purple scarf sitting on a mannequin. She wove her hands through the fabric, trying to comfort herself, because the clerk was staring at her and all of a sudden the room started to spin and there was voices-

She let out a scream as dark haired men charged into the room, bellowing orders in loud voices. Hands grabbed her from behind: thick, rough hands that grabbed at her skin.

"Help!" she screamed, flailing her arms wildly. "What the hell, who are you?"

"Shut up, Muggle!" growled a deep voice as they covered her eyes and forced a bag over her head. Fiona gasped for breath as the bag suddenly cut off her airflow. Choking, she flailed and struggled but to no avail. Then she was floating…floating, inexplicably in midair and without warning she landed on a hard surface and she could feel herself being launched into nothingness, her screams invisible and unheard through the silent streets of Glasgow.

No one ever saw Fiona Aston again.

Rumors of her disappearance spread more widely because there were more people knew who she was. And then there were more disappearances, first the beautiful girls and the athletic boys. Mothers screamed for their children, demanding the police to find them. But the police were helpless. There were no clues, no traces to where they had gone: there was only the word of their loved ones, and to all else the missing people were a distant memory.

* * *

Nott smiled to himself as he surveyed the city of Glasgow. He was currently above the Wizarding World part of Glasgow, the one hidden to Muggles. Nott was seated comfortably in a leather armchair in a high building clad with green of every sort: green wallpaper, floors, coffee mugs, desks.

_I swear the Dark Lord has some sort of unhealthy obsession with green, _he thought to himself.

Nott was quite comfortable in his office. He had recently acquired two new Muggles slaves, those of which were new and inexperienced. This gave Nott more of an excuse to torment them and he got great pleasure out of casting the Cruciatus Curse on the unsuspecting Muggles.

He especially enjoyed seeing them go insane. Muggles had no idea of the magical world and nothing was ever explained to them about magic during their captivity. Therefore, they thought they were in some kind of dream or were going insane: causing them to go crazy in the head.

They made perfect servants.

Nott smiled to himself. He had always known that being the Dark Lord's servant would pay off one day. The Dark Lord had appointed him as the governor of Muggle and Wizard Glasgow. He was one of the most powerful wizards in the Wizarding World since the takeover and was certainly getting his money's worth of being in the Dark Lord's service.

Nott had to admire his Lord. The Dark Lord's plan for takeover was completely successful. He was changing the Wizarding World and while doing so was destroying the Muggle one. The Dark Lord had ordered his Death Eaters to kidnap Muggles to use them for slaves and they were often placed in large work-camps as well. Like Mudbloods they often waited on Wizards but they also did much more gruesome, tiring tasks. Whoever could not work was quickly disposed of.

He was also glad that the Dark Lord's ranks had swelled: there were a lot more men under him now. The Dark Lord recruited those high-ranking witches and wizards who wanted to grow higher in their glory and riches. Only the finest were selected, and their children joined a training center for Death Eaters at the age of eleven, when they would usually set off for school. These children would replace their parents and elders when they fell in battle. In this school they were taught to love the Dark Lord, to kill, and to do the Dark Lord's many tasks.

Theodore was one of those children. After the Dark Lord's takeover which closely followed the capture of Harry Potter he had been eager to join the Death Eater training camp.

Because of his position he was in contact with his son. Theodore had told him that he had killed his first Mudblood yesterday. Nott couldn't be prouder.

The Dark Lord had confided in him that these young recruits would be perfect in the gradual takeover of the rest of Europe. Their many numbers and their youth made them easily sacrificed in battle. Nott was not worried about his son: his position could pull him out of harm's way if necessary.

And the Dark Lord had promised him that if he was a good enough governor of the city he might one day rule a country under the Dark Lord.

A parchment magically appeared in his inbox and Nott reached forward and grabbed it. He scanned it quickly and found that it contained the details for the Dark Lord's next raid. A smirk grew slowly across his face. _Lots of Muggles to be killed…sounds like a fun day._

And he would be leading the raid, no less. Nott smiled as he thought of the look on Lucius' face when he found out. The Dark Lord didn't give any good missions to Lucius since he had almost failed at his last.

Nott rang a small golden bell on top of his desk.

A Muggle girl stumbled in the room, her eyes wide and her blonde hair ragged. She was carrying a tray of tea in her trembling hands. The girl sprinted to his desk, dropped the tea onto it and hurried towards the door. Nott watched her with amusement.

"Not so fast," he smiled and the girl froze in mid-movement.

"Come here."

The girl walked slowly towards him, her pace becoming slower as she walked. Finally she stopped in front of him and stared at the floor as if she might sink into it.

Nott sneered. "What is your name?"

"Fiona, sir."

"Why is my tea cold?" he hissed and the girl shrank back in horror.

"I, I don't know sir," she stammered.

Nott whipped out his wand.

"Please, sir!" she begged, "I don't know why it's cold!"

"You liar!" he snarled and said, "Crucio!"

Nott watched in pleasure as the girl screamed and thrashed below him. His tea wasn't cold at all. He looked back at the girl and to his surprise she had stood up and was glaring at him.

"You're horrible! You can't do this to me, it isn't legal," she screeched, "And I want to go home, now!"

Nott stared at the girl in confusion, perplexed by her sudden change in behavior.

"You want to go home, now?" he said slowly, watching her carefully.

"Yes!" she snarled, looking at him angrily, "_Now!"_

Nott grinned and the girl's eyes filled with fear, although the scowl remained on her face.

"I could arrange that," he said quietly, "We could pay a little visit to your parents,"

The girl's mouth opened in horror. "No!" she cried.

Nott grinned nastily. "Then keep your mouth shut, Muggle," he spat, "and get out of my sight!"

Nott felt a bad mood creeping up on him as the girl ran from the room. She reminded him too much of his sister.

* * *

Voldemort was taking Harry out on a 'excursion' and for the first time in what seemed like ages Harry was feeling excited. He hadn't been out anywhere since his captivity. Harry ran into his room and hurriedly pulled on some green robes, not caring that the Dark Mark insignia was on them.

"_Be good to Master," _hissed the snake as he ran out the door. Harry nodded instinctively as he rushed to meet Voldemort.

His Master was standing near the door, ready and waiting in a long black cloak. A heavy hood covered his bald head, and his red eyes looked up as Harry entered the room.

"Ready, Harry?" he asked and Harry nodded, eager to get going. Voldemort attached the leash to his collar and they were off, the heavy door swinging shut behind them.

For once, Harry didn't care about all the students who were staring at them. In a strange way he thought the way that Voldemort had the students look at him, with great fear in their eyes was astounding. Voldemort's mere presence seemed to hush all the students in the castle, and many looked down as they were fearful that he might meet their eye. It reminded him a lot of Snape except that there was brute force behind the glares that Voldemort gave

They passed several Death Eaters, who murmured and bowed respectfully as they passed. Voldemort did not punish them but nodded curtly and swept past. Harry was surprised to see that they did not laugh or mock him but gazed respectfully towards the floor. In a way Voldemort was protecting him.

Normally Harry would have laughed at the irony but today it was strangely comforting. For the first time there was someone protecting him. He knew that if anyone had tried to poke fun at him Voldemort would stand up for him.

They reached the front gates. Harry, following protocol that he had learned throughout his captivity bowed his head and allowed Voldemort to go through the gates first. He was lead by his Master into an empty field. Voldemort turned, grabbed his arm, and the world vanished into a swirl of color.

Harry had no sooner shut his eyes when the world re-formed and they were standing on a high cliff looking down. Voldemort had composed himself and was beckoning Harry to follow with a long, spidery hand. Harry followed after Voldemort.

"Look," said Voldemort, pointing. Harry looked down.

It seemed to be a massive camp. There were tents scattered everywhere. He could see many people and smoke rising from cooking fires. Men, women and children were walking around hurriedly. It appeared as if they were working.

Some men were shoveling coal and some women were building what looked like houses. Children were huddled over pieces of long cloth.

"Muggles and Mudbloods," said Voldemort, breaking the silence, "Working to uphold my new reign."

Harry looked closer and saw an angry looking man bellowing at a group of children who shrank back in fear. Harry tried not to react but stiffened noticeably.

A cold hand had rested on his shoulder. Harry didn't look up.

"Many are not as lucky as you are," Voldemort said quietly, "Many would beg to be in your place."

Harry did not answer. His mind was wrapping itself around Voldemort's words. They were true, he decided.

And then Voldemort was leading him down a long, long path into the camp and their figures disappeared into the mist.

"My Lord!" a man bellowed. Voldemort and Harry had reached the camp and were instantly greeted by an enthusiastic Death Eater. The man fell into a sloppy bow. "Them Muggles are working hard for you Mi' Lord. Ain't no Muggle who get away with anything in my camp."

Voldemort nodded his head curtly. "I can trust your management," he said coldly.

The man flushed with excitement. "Yes, Mi'Lord, of course," he said happily. Then his beady eyes fell on Harry.

"Ah, the bo' who lived' finally shown his rightful place," he jeered, "good of yo' to sho' him, Mi'Lord, the nasty lil' wrench."

Voldemort's eyes hardened and he spoke in a cold, low voice, "Do not insult my slave. By insulting him you insult me."

The man stammered and drew back. "Of course no' my Lord!" he gasped and scampered away in a hurry.

Harry looked up at Voldemort in surprise but Voldemort was not looking at him. He was surveying the camp with a thoughtful eye. "Follow me, Harry," he ordered and Harry automatically responded.

They walked into a part of the camp that housed the Muggles and Muggle-borns. Harry tried not to look at the Muggle-borns who were whispering and staring at him.

"It's Potter!"

"So much for our last hope…"

"Guess he didn't care about us enough to fight,"

Voldemort seemed to have heard them and spun around and hissed, "Silence!" They quieted at once.

Voldemort turned to Harry with a strange look on his snakelike face. "They all hate you, Harry," he murmured, "for something that isn't your fault. They think you failed them."

Harry's green eyes darkened. It was bad enough being Voldemort's slave without the Wizarding World treating him like a failure. Harry glowered at Voldemort.

"That's not true," he said quietly, but he didn't really believe it.

"I think it's time to go," said Voldemort quietly and took Harry's hand to Disapparate. Harry took it automatically, his green eyes dull and lifeless. He had failed them…it wasn't his fault, and they thought it was.

What else did he have, now? Ron and Hermione probably thought he had failed them too. He couldn't stand to think of the look of disappointment on Dumbledore's face.

_Some wizard you turned out to be, Harry._

And then he met Voldemort's gleaming red eyes that were offering him safety and a home and his feet left the ground taking him back to the place he wasn't sure he hated anymore.

* * *

Voldemort was worried about his slave.

Harry hadn't responded at all for the past few days. He'd spent all the time shut up in his room, or wordlessly obeying Voldemort's commands. Even the book Voldemort was writing about his parents being blood-traitors and deserving to die didn't unnerve him.

_And that was the main purpose of the book, _Voldemort thought with a scowl. _What a waste of time._

Voldemort may have been extremely inhuman, but he hadn't forgotten his days of depression in the orphanage. Days of staring listlessly out the window, wondering what he would do with his life. How he would get his revenge on those who thought he was different and who taunted him.

_Well, he had. _He remembered luring those children to a cave, what fun had that been! Voldemort grinned as he remembered, then looked down at the boy.

_Dratted Potter doesn't have the guts to do something like that to Dumbledore and his blind Order._

He looked down at the boy, who was sitting mindlessly at his feet and staring into space.

_Pathetic, _he thought with a sneer.

If Voldemort hadn't known better, he might have felt a little pity for the boy.

It was time to change things. He needed Harry to be at his side at all times, but he couldn't have his little host become depressed.

Harry must willingly concede to him in order for everything to go smoothly. And for that he needed some confidence in himself. He needed to feel useful.

There was only one thing to do, now.

"Harry."

The boy looked up with empty green eyes.

"Yes, Master."

Voldemort swallowed his irritation at the boy's lack of interest.

"I think it's time you learned something," Voldemort said. "It displeases me to see my slave used for nothing but cooking and cleaning."

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Like what?" he said dully, attempting to sound uninterested but Voldemort knew otherwise. Harry was never good at hiding his emotions.

Voldemort licked his lips. "Fighting, slave. Although it may have not crossed your mind, not all slaves under the new order are domestic servants. Many fight for their masters."

Harry raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing.

"Didn't Dumbledore ever teach you how to fight in combat?"

The boy shook his head slowly. Voldemort snorted.

"How did he ever expect you to defeat me?"

A small smirk appeared on Harry's face.

"I kind of wonder that myself," he muttered. Voldemort smirked.

"Albus Dumbledore isn't as great as he is, I see," he said. The boy looked at him with humor in his eyes. Then Voldemort rose. "Come, Potter. I have something I need to show you."

Voldemort heard the snake hiss in Potter's head.

_Master takes good care of you, Harry._

_But what if he wants to use me? _The boy replied suspiciously. _I don't know, Snake._

Snake…the boy was personifying it now? Voldemort stared back in surprise but the boy didn't seem to notice.

_And Dumbledore, the Wizarding World never wanted to use you?_

_You may be right, Snake. But they were my friends._

_Master makes sure no harm comes to you._

_That's true, but…_

_Master has skills and reflexes like Salazar, _the snake hissed, _He will pass them on to you._

_I could be strong and able to fight. Not a bad deal from being stuck here._

_That's the spirit, _the snake hissed and Voldemort smiled as Harry followed after him.

Voldemort led Harry to a small wooden door and opened it. He saw the boy blink as he took in all the magnificent weaponry, armor and practice stations. The room was as least as big as the Great Hall and was decked in emerald green wallpaper. Light shone from the windows, giving a view of the courtyard.

Voldemort noticed Harry staring out of the windows.

"No one can see inside," he hissed, then walked over to one of the swords, took one and placed it in Harry's hand. Harry stared at it in wonderment.

"These are practice weapons," Voldemort instructed, "they will not hurt you or anyone else in this room. They are dull and can only inflict bruising. Now-"

And with the air of a Professor he explained the functionality of the room. Harry listened in silence, but his eyes were alight with interest.

"…and I will be instructing your lessons, they will happen once a day for a few hours."

Harry was quiet until Voldemort had finished talking. He stood up, suspicion written all over his face. "Why do you want me to learn all this?" he asked hesitantly, testing Voldemort's answer.

Voldemort grinned at the naïve child, turned and began walking out of the room.

"For your next raid, Potter," he smirked. "I'm sure you will be a great asset to me." Voldemort let out a high-pitched laugh as the door slammed shut on Harry's shell-shocked face.

* * *

"And the Pure-Bloods, the highest race of Wizard shall be receiving their Slave today as I speak."

Snape rolled up the parchment he was reading from, picked up another and started calling names. Hermione's gut twisted. She was standing in a row in front of the staff table with other Muggle-borns. Their arms were clad with chains to represent their induction to slavery and a shining silver collar was clasped around their necks. The collars only awaited the name of their new masters to be inscribed as they were given.

It was impossible to believe that only a few months ago she was sitting here, in the Great Hall watching the sunset and wishing that Ron would stop bickering with her. Her mind had been free of worries except for schoolwork. Now…

Hermione glanced up at the sun that was sinking beneath the purple clouds.

_Fitting, that the sun sets on the day my future is ruined._

"Malfoy, Draco!"

_Not him, not him, _begged Hermione wordlessly, watching as Draco sat up and walked towards the staff table. His blonde hair shone and his pointed face gleamed with sick excitement. The fur robes he wore made a sweeping sound against the marble floor beneath him.

"Mudblood Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

Hermione let out a sob as Justin walked forward slowly as if inching towards his death. She could not watch, this was sick, she needed to leave and go back to her house where her mother and father were there. They had no idea where she was: she had tried not to go to Hogwarts but was caught out and now they probably thought her dead.

And now, she couldn't see them without her Master's permission.

"Weasley, Ronald!"

Hermione's head snapped up. She watched perplexed as Ron slowly made his way towards the Head Table. Her insides were churning and Hermione could taste bile rising in her throat. Ron, her Ron was going to be one of them…

"Mudblood Granger, Hermione!"

And that was all it took for Hermione's world to come crashing down on her. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she staggered. Then the purple sky of the Great Hall turned to pitch black and the shocked faces of the students before her faded into nothingness as she fainted.

She never saw the words burned onto the collar, the words that would change her life forever.

_Property of Ronald Weasley._

_

* * *

_

Let me know what you thought! :)

Note: I am well aware what a Mary Sue is and I realize Fiona is an OC. She will most likely not be a main character and I will do everything in my power to keep her from being in that MS category. (I really hate Mary Sue's.)


	9. Training

I know, I'm the slowest updater ever. Well, if you've stuck with me, thank you. If you're new, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 9: Training

* * *

_At least he knew that Voldemort would always be there to watch him, and he would not hurt him unless Harry disobeyed. Much more clean-cut that the Dursleys._

_In a way, it was an improvement._

* * *

_I won't do it, _Harry muttered to himself, but the gears in his mind were turning.

Voldemort wanted to use him for raids. However, if Harry learned how to fight, he could simply pretend to do what Voldemort ordered on those raids. He might be able to help people, even.

A little voice in his head told him that Voldemort would never let him get away with that.

_You want to play the hero, as usual, _the snake simpered. _Let Master take care of you. _

_I'm not playing the hero! _Harry thought angrily, but the snake fell silent.

Now that he was alone, Harry looked around the room. Blades lined the walls, of different shapes and sizes. Some looked like they could easily sever a man in two, while others looked small and for close dueling.

Harry also realized with a slight shock that Voldemort had ordered more wands made for him, other than the yew and phoenix feather wand. At least ten different wands lined the walls, although they looked unused.

_I wonder why that is, _Harry thought to himself. He could think of no reason, other than Voldemort just wanted backups.

Feeling a mix of curiosity and excitement now, Harry turned and with a small shock saw a flaming bronze shield, with the letter S on it burning in a way that slightly reminded Harry of Fawkes.

Before Harry could look around any further, Voldemort stepped into the room. He was wearing a long black cloak that billowed about his knees. His red eyes danced in amusement as he saw Harry standing in the room, indecisive.

After leaving the room, Voldemort had come back with a small sword, which he tossed to Harry. Harry nearly dropped it, but managed to catch it at the end. Voldemort looked at him in disapproval.

"Privilege…" Voldemort said in a voice barely above a whisper, "Such privilege you have today, Potter. Many would kill to learn the Dark Arts from me, the secrets of master sword fighting. Many have tried…and many have failed."

His ruby eyes stared at Harry, who suddenly felt like he was being examined from the inside out.

"Hopefully, if you ever had _any _potential," he said with a sneer that reminded Harry strongly of Snape, "you will do mildly well."

Harry felt the snake dancing in glee. Feeling a little more excited now, he nodded.

"Excellent," said Voldemort. "Now, attack me, Potter."

Harry stared at him. Voldemort looked at him in annoyance.

"I said, attack me, Potter."

_Like I'd be able to even hit him._

Feeling extremely stupid, Harry took a swing at the Dark Lord with the sword.

As the sword neared the Dark Lord, Harry felt a searing pain in his neck. Gasping, he dropped to the floor and fell. The collar was choking him, burning him with an electrical current…the snake was shrieking, Harry was yelling and the pain racked on and on…

"_Finite!" _commanded Voldemort, and the pain stopped.

Harry hadn't realized that he'd fallen to the ground. With trembling hands, Harry felt his neck and winced as his fingers touched raw blisters. He looked up and saw Voldemort watching him in amusement.

"I am so sorry, Harry, I forgot to take off the charm," Voldemort said in a voice with a hint of laughter. "It prevents you from ever attacking me."

Harry could only glare at him. He stood up, fruitlessly trying to control the trembling of his hands.

Voldemort muttered a short spell, and then turned to face Harry again. Expressionless this time, he handed Harry the sword.

"Now try again, Potter, with agility this time," he sneered, and suddenly Harry thought that maybe Voldemort hadn't removed the charm on purpose. Angrily this time, he faked left and swung at Voldemort's left shoulder. The Dark Lord easily dodged, his red eyes glistening in amusement.

"Better," he said. "Again."

And on it went, for hours, until sweat dripped down Harry neck and stung the healing blisters on his neck. Every muscle in his bone ached, and Harry found himself wishing that if Voldemort wanted to cause him pain, he should just Crucio him and be done with it.

Every time he swung the sword, Voldemort would dodge or parry with his own sword. Harry couldn't help but be amazed at Voldemort' skill. It was no small wonder that he was the most feared Lord of all time. Every swing Harry took at him, every move he made was so easily dodged that Voldemort almost looked bored.

Voldemort was not in it to make Harry simply look foolish, however. With every hit Harry made, Voldemort called out what he was doing wrong. _Your movements are sloppy. Refine them, make them like mine. _

_Stop lunging with the sword. Quick steps will help you a long way._

_Don't turn your back on me, foolish boy!_

After what seemed like an era, Voldemort singled for Harry to stop.

"Put your sword away," Voldemort said, "and come here."

Exhausted, every bone in his body screaming, Harry limped over to the sword rack and put the sword in its proper place. Then he peddled over to Voldemort, who was sitting on a small sofa.

He sat down at Voldemort's feet, as he usually did. Voldemort paused for a moment, and then dug his fingers through Harry's hair, unconsciously untangling the tangles that matted it. Harry said nothing. This was common practice, but somehow Harry could feel Voldemort's enormous satisfaction.

After a few seconds' pause, Voldemort said, "I think you might be use to me after all. This was only your first day, yet you showed potential."

Harry said nothing. Voldemort stroked his hand through Harry's hair a few more times.

"You may leave now," said Voldemort after a few minutes, "we will continue again tomorrow."

Harry turned and left hurriedly, letting the door slam behind him.

* * *

The next time Hermione woke, she was in the infirmary.

She became conscious of voices all around her, some yelling in pain and others talking in soothing voices. Hermione opened her eyes.

Madame Pomfrey was staring down at her, her dimpled face smiling in relief. She was the matron for the Mudbloods, since it was proven that she was one herself.

"Oh good, Ms. Granger, you are awake," said the matron happily, although Hermione could see a trace of worry in her small eyes.

Hermione sat up and looked around. The 'infirmary' was nothing more than an old storage room, grossly inadequate and over packed. Victims of the Cruciatus Curse were lying on thin cots, moaning. Others lay motionless on the ground. Hermione had been lucky enough to get a bed.

"What…what happened?" she muttered. Events of the last day came rushing back to her….the collar, Snape announcing who they would serve…_Ron_…she lightly touched the silver collar at her neck, which burned at the touch.

Madame Pomfrey looked down at her, her smile gone. "Dear, you fainted at…the _ceremony," _she said, face scrunched up at the last word as if she had just swallowed a lemon. "Understandable, of course. Still, you're fine now, and thankfully no one has decided to punish you."

"Thanks," Hermione muttered. Her hands were clammy, and she shook as she tried to get out of her bed. Madame Pomfrey pushed her down with gentle hands.

"Not yet, my dear," she said quietly. "Regain your strength. You've been through quite an ordeal."

Hermione lay back down. Truthfully, she didn't think she ever wanted to get up and face the terrible world again. Maybe she should just lie here, where it was safe, forever.

Tears filled her eyes as she thought of her parents, who must be worried sick. She'd told them to go into hiding, as advised from the Order. They were now in Australia, under different names and identities. They had no idea where she was or when she was coming back. And now she wasn't even allowed to go home. It wasn't her right.

Sniffling, Hermione turned away and wiped her nose on a tissue. It wasn't fair-nothing was, anymore, but she had to be strong. She had shown weakness when she had fainted at the ceremony and that probably made the Death Eaters delighted.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice when Ron burst into the room. His eyes were wide with worry as they surveyed her.

"Hermione…"

Her head jerked up and with wide eyes she found Ron. He was standing at the doorway, his face a mirror of horror and sadness. He seemed to sag, and sadness radiated off him.

"Hermione," he whispered again.

Their eyes met, then he rushed over and was hugging her, his whole body shaking. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, but they were uncertain.

She'd thought she was actually starting to have feelings for Ron, feelings beyond that of friendship…but what now? Even that had been taken away from her. Ron was her owner now, and if they went beyond that relationship they could be punished by death.

Ron owned her.

She couldn't help the shudder that wracked her frame, and Ron drew back, his eyes laced with concern.

She turned away. She found that she could not look at him, could not stand the guilt and sorrow in his eyes.

"It's…" Ron stumbled on his words, then recovered, "It's…some sadistic thing _he _thought up. This doesn't change anything."

Hermione didn't say anything. Ron could say that if he liked, but it didn't change that in the eyes of the law, Hermione was now a piece of property. Things would never be the same again.

"We'll…we'll keep up appearances," said Ron, "but you know it's not really real…right?"

She looked up, and felt guilty when she saw rare tears appear in his eyes.

"I'm sorry Ron, I'm being stupid," she rushed out. The words were coming out of her mouth, but there was no meaning behind them. "I was just…shocked at the whole experience."

Ron seemed to buy that, and relaxed slightly. "See, it won't be so bad," he said.

_Maybe not for you, _Hermione thought.

Something had formed between them: a barrier lined with barbed wire, preventing them from ever becoming close ever again. Hermione looked away. She couldn't stand this.

She was surprised to see that Ron took her hand. "Cmon," he said, "There's a FFH meeting now."

Warily, she let him help her up, and surprised to see that she was no longer dizzy.

"Thanks," Hermione called to Madame Pomfrey, who was watching them with a wary eye.

They set out into Hogwarts' corridors. The bell had just rung for class, and Hermione suddenly thought with a panic of the work she'd have to make up for when she was gone. Carrow would not be happy about her absence.

Ron had let go of her hand. She supposed he was trying to look the part. _To protect us both._

"Ron!" said a friendly voice, a Slytherin who was leading his own slave. Ron waved a friendly hand and grinned.

"Ron, how are you doing, mate!"

"Good, you?" Ron called back.

Blaise Zambini grinned back. "Fancy some chess later, mate?"

"Of course," said Ron. "Can't pass up a chance with that, no?"

Zambini smirked. "Unless of course you're busy, and you want to take the Mudblood for a shag?"

"No," Ron muttered, pulling Hermione in the opposite direction and leaving Zambini standing there. His ears were a flaming red as he lead Hermione towards the Room of Requirement.

They entered, and Hermione was surprised to see a lot less people there than were before.

"They couldn't risk coming here without their Masters finding out," Ron muttered, and Hermione nodded in acknowledgment.

Neville waved, Colin Creevey next to him looking nervous.

"I'm lucky I got Colin," Neville called as they walked over to him. "He's cool, and we both get along. Plus Colin's a good actor, aren't you, Colin?"

"Yup!" said Colin, his young face bright and untroubled. "Neville and I, we're a team. We have no problem fooling those Death Eaters into thinking Neville's a good Pure-Blood and all that."

"That's awesome, mate," Ron said.

"How're you, Hermione?" asked Neville, and she saw that he was looking at her carefully.

"I'm alright, thanks," she said with a smile, although the words had never been so untrue.

"Okay, pair up!" Ron shouted from over in the corner, and they all jumped. Hermione went to duel with Ron, but as she approached he said uneasily, "that's probably not a good idea. I don't know what magic…" he stared pointedly at her neck.

Hermione's throat went dry. "Oh," she said. She went instead to Dean Thomas, who was watching them with a strange expression on his face.

As she approached, he smiled. "Stupefy!" he called, almost catching her off guard.

They went on like that for several minutes, weaving in and out of spells and dueling frantically.

_Expelliarmus! _he called, and Hermione's wand went flying across the room.

She walked over to pick up her wand but Dean pulled her close and hissed, "Weasley's enjoying this, Hermione."

She pulled back, shocked. "Of course he's not!" she said angrily, "he just has to act the part!"

Dean looked at her, a mulish expression on his face. "All the boys are," he snapped. "Weasley included. You don't hear what they say about their slaves when we're not around-" Hermione's stomach flipped, "and I bet you've already heard some of their…_intentions._ They think they're better than anyone. I'm glad I have Ginny-at least she's decent-but you don't know them, Hermione. They're enjoying their new power."

"Ron's not like that!" she snapped.

"How do you know?" he insisted. "Don't you think he'd enjoy the attention for once?"

Angrily, she turned away, but the seed of doubt that had been there already was starting to grow. What if Ron was enjoying all the attention?

"Hermione, over here!" Ron called suddenly, beckoning frantically.

She marched up to him, anger flaring. "Don't boss me around!" she hissed.

Ron looked taken aback. "I only meant to show you a new spell I learnt!" he insisted frantically, but Hermione had turned and ran out of the room, tears spilling onto her cheeks.

* * *

The days flew by, and Harry got stronger.

Now he could parry any blow that Voldemort threw at him, dodge any spell. Harry rolled behind a stone as Voldemort's fabrication of the _Avada Kedavra _curse flew by his ear, and parried the spell with his sword. It flew back towards Voldemort, who spun and sent flames shooting back at Harry. He dodged and dislodged a knife from his belt and threw it at Voldemort, who returned it. It embedded itself in the wall, and Harry sent a rapid fire of spells at Voldemort, who jumped in the air to avoid them.

This whole exchange took exactly thirty seconds.

Panting heavily, Harry tucked his heavy sword into his belt. It was a beautiful sword that reminded Harry of Godric Gryffindor's. Voldemort had told him that this sword had been especially made for Voldemort by the master Goblin craftsmen. Its hilt was embedded with rubies, and the sword curved sharply, ending in a sharp point that could also emit spells, if used correctly. It was made of a light gold, and was sharp and deadly.

Harry had his favorite weapons, for sure, and this one was it. He also had several small knives that he'd become excellent at throwing and catching, even when thrown through the air at his face. He'd learned to do that quite well, after his body had become covered in bruises from knife points. Voldemort loved to throw knives.

Harry had never really been able to demonstrate his full competence in Hogwarts before, as the classes were never adequately taught. Now, however, Harry was at his full potential. And he had never felt so happy, strange as it was. The satisfaction that gleamed in Voldemort's eyes was overwhelming. Never before had Harry had so much expected of him, but he was learning, and Voldemort seemed to appreciate his every effort.

So did the snake. As Harry got better, the snake grew more approving. It often hissed encouragement to him, reassuring him of his talents. Was that such a bad thing?

As much as he hated to admit it, Voldemort was a much better teacher than Snape or any teacher he'd ever had before. When Harry did something wrong, he did not criticize him but fixed him with his sharp eyes and told him to repeat it. _Repeat, repeat, repeat…_even when Harry had become impatient and shouted at him to stop, Voldemort had ignored him.

"You must learn patience if you are to ever master the sword and wand," he had said with indifference when Harry had shouted at him that he didn't want to do it anymore.

Now, instead of sitting around and cooking meals and waiting to be rescued, Harry was in a sense rescuing himself. He had an objective to work for, and he found himself waiting for the next day to come.

Voldemort had also started to teach him some curses that he had invented, spiking Harry's curiosity. There were spells that could do horrible things, like have your victim turn completely inside out, but they only practiced on dummies. Then there were spells that seemed purely elemental, like Voldemort's fire spell or a spell that could create a hurricane. Harry practiced these more eagerly, privately living off Voldemort's each nod of approval.

But Voldemort was still his Master, and he was still the slave. Harry didn't think about this as much, but it was always there. Harry kneeling at his feet. Harry obeying his every command. Harry didn't care as much now. At least he knew that Voldemort would always be there to watch him, and he would not hurt him unless Harry disobeyed. Much more clean-cut that the Dursleys.

In a way, it was an improvement.


	10. Forgotten

Thanks for the reviews! I'm just going to put a slight disclaimer on this chapter-it is a little disturbing, so if you're overly sensitive, just be warned.

**Chapter 10: Forgotten**

* * *

_With the mask of devil-horns and a cloak on fire, the dead and wounded strewn around him, Harry Potter looked every part the devil himself._

_

* * *

  
_

Hermione ran and ran, her tears blinding her vision. She was crying without control, and running blindly, deaf to the laughing people in the corridor.

This must be what it felt like to be broken, crazy. Hermione ran on and on, bursting into the outside of the castle. By some miracle, the Death Eater on duty did not see her, and she sat in the base of a willow tree and let the tears fall.

Nothing was right with the world anymore. Ron was now…superior to her, to say the least and she was nothing more than a piece of property.

He could boss her around, treat her like dirt and she wouldn't be able to say a word about it. He had complete control over her.

The memory of them playing in the park together seemed to be from another world. That would never happen now. She had no future; the path ahead of her was dark and endless.

If that's one thing she couldn't stand, it was others being in control of her. She was a very independent person, and she could not live this way.

_Well Ron, if you wanted attention and power, you got your wish, _she thought.

"Hermione?"

She looked up. Dean Thomas was standing next to her, and his extended hand was warm as she took it.

"Are you alright-"

Hermione suddenly pulled him to her, the wish to do something forbidden overriding her every sense. For once, she wanted to rebel.

"Come here," she whispered and pressed her lips to his.

He responded immediately, pressing deeper into the kiss and intertwining his hand in her hair. They sunk to the ground, hidden by the branches of the willow.

"Dean-" Hermione whispered, half wanting to tug away from him and half wanting to draw closer, "What if we get caught?"

"We won't," murmured Dean as he kissed her neck in ecstasy, and she sighed in contentment.

"But Ron-" The words spilled, unexpected, from her mouth. She gasped in horror.

"Don't worry about that stuck up-prick," growled Dean, drawing her closer.

A flash of anger surged through her, and she laughed aloud as she felt _rebellious, _her anger at Ron growing with every kiss from Dean's lips.

_This is forbidden, _Hermione thought happily, holding him tighter, as they sunk into eternal bliss.

* * *

As Harry slept, the snake wrapped itself more firmly around him. Ignoring the dreams Harry was having, it slithered around in his thoughts and latched itself more firmly on his soul. Harry's soul was a warm, golden and green orb, and the gold side was fading.

The orb that represented Harry's soul was being taken over by a sickly green substance that oozed from the snake as he slithered over it. It looked like a bright sun being slowly consumed in darkness.

Harry should have been disturbed, but he was not. Over the past few months, even as Voldemort had removed his magic-stopping necklace and given him strength and power to fight back, his will for resistance had vanished. Gone and without a trace.

He no longer thought of his friends. The swords and blades were his companions, sharp and wicked and ready to give him power as he grasped the cool metal blade.

If Harry had been awake, his emerald eyes would have been cold and calculating. His body no longer scrawny, but rigid. Adept hands of a murderer and quick feet would have supported him.

But Harry was asleep now, and the snake was working its magic.

The snake hissed and ran its scales slowly over the orb, covering it in green slime. Harry sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, eyes blank and unseeing.

"Sleeeppp…." hissed the snake soothingly, and Harry sank back into the covers and was asleep once more.

His resistance was getting less and less by the day. Soon enough, Harry would be no more than a vessel of Lord Voldemort's soul.

The snake slithered slowly back into the recesses of Harry's mind, settling in a comfortable spot.

The next morning, Voldemort found Harry in the library pouring over some of his Dark Arts books. Harry looked up and smiled as he saw Voldemort, then frowned as if questioning what he just did.

"Ready, Harry?" Voldemort asked, and Harry nodded, setting down the book and obediently standing next to Voldemort. "I think you are ready to accompany me today. You have trained long and hard, and deserve a reward."

Harry nodded eagerly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's.

"You know these undeserving Mudbloods are trying to break the world I have created," hissed Voldemort. "they will stop at nothing to upset our order."

Harry nodded, although something deep inside him stirred in upset. He flicked it away. _An old weakness._

"So you must accompany me," Voldemort continued, "we will be defending the French Ministry from the Order's army…they have grown in numbers."

And they had. When Voldemort had begun his new world order, the Order had started a resistance. Voldemort had now taken over Britian and begun on France, and the Order was attempting to stop him from attacking the French Ministry of Magic and taking over. But Voldemort's armies had swelled and with the number of youths he was training, he would soon be unstoppable. The Order's armies consisted of rag-tag wizards and witches who had very little training. Still, their numbers were growing…

"You will use Dark Curses if necessary," Voldemort continued. He then eyed Harry before saying, "I expect you will not fail your Master."

Harry shook his head. "No," he said, his voice like ice.

"They are undeserving of life, these traitors of society," Voldemort went on. "They want to slaughter wizard children and babies."

Something in Harry's eyes flickered, but only for a moment. "They have to be stopped," growled Harry. Harry thought of his strength and his skills with weapons. He thought of innocent children being hunted by Muggle-borns for their Pureblood status.

"You know what they call Pure Blood children, Harry," Voldemort said, while eying him closely.

"Freaks," echoed Harry, his eyes widening.

"They hate magic," Voldemort spat. "Steal it for their own dirty purpose, and then destroy magic in Pure-Bloods and Half-Bloods. They kill 'freaks' whenever they can."

Months of speeches like this, the snake growing stronger had led Harry to believe Voldemort's twisted words. He nodded, hands gripping his wand tightly.

_Get out of my house, freak!_

_There's no such thing as magic, freak!_

_Brat! Your spoilt self and your drunk father and waste of a mother should have gone to hell!_

The Dursleys' voices echoed in his ears, and Harry grabbed Voldemort's arm to Side-Apparate.

Voldemort laughed at Harry's eagerness, his bright red eyes alight with glee.

"Ready so soon, Harry?" he asked with a nasty grin, then spun on the spot.

The world faded to grey as they Apparated to the city of Paris.

Screams filled Harry's ears as they landed on the cobblestone street. Fires blazed from Muggle rooftops and Wizarding buildings flickered eerily in and out of the picture; their Anti-Muggle wards were dissolving. It was like watching an old horror movie; half of the world disappeared and the other half grew closer, a strange supernatural affect.

Masked wizards were everywhere, dueling. A witch shrieked as she flew into a burning building, a wizard yelled as he was hit in the chest with a curse. Children cowered from Death Eaters as they raised their wands to strike.

Harry only saw the children with leering, evil faces as they lured the innocent Death Eaters towards a fire.

Amongst the pandemonium, Voldemort pulled Harry into a crumbled building and handed him a mask.

"Reveal yourself only when you see fit to do so," he hissed, then disappeared, leaving Harry standing in the crumbling building with a mask in his hand and his wand in the other.

Harry was alone in a burning hell.

Without hesitation, Harry pulled on the mask. It was completely black with sockets for the nose, eyes and mouth. Two small horns grew out of either side. Harry smiled and left the building, which was actually a crumbled schoolhouse.

Pulling out his wand, he stepped into the street. Leaps of flame struck from every angle, devouring anything in their path. Debris was everywhere. Harry could see a marble fountain overturned, water spilling out; someone's flower bushes were burning.

Hydrangeas. Harry gritted his teeth, remembering.

"NO!"

Harry spun around. The shout had come from a man with red hair, rushing towards a motionless figure on the ground. Dark-cloaked, masked wizards were dueling the Order, pushing them back as they went. The Order was losing; wizards in burnt robes were hastily retreating and shouting to one another:

"Moody, watch out!"

"We've got to fall back-there's too many of them!" shouted someone who Harry vacantly remembered.

"Stupefy!" roared a voice and Harry saw a Death Eater knocked back. With a flash of recognition, Harry saw Mad-Eye Moody.

A monster in his chest roaring in anger, Harry snapped to attention. He grabbed one of the emerald-studded daggers at his wrist and unleashed his sword. Careful not to gain attention, he crept forward.

"That'll teach you, you scum!" roared Moody, his magical eye whirling.

With Moody's attack, the Order seemed to gain hope. For a moment all Harry saw was an army of blue robes, then faces as they charged at the Death Eaters.

"You'll pay for that, scum!" screamed a voice that Harry recognized with a jolt as Bellatrix Lestrange.

_Murderer, _something said quietly in his head. Harry paused for only a moment. The murderous rage came clashing back on him, a horrendous voice echoing in his head: _Freak. Freak._

_FREAK!_

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!" _Harry roared, jumping from behind the wall. Mad-Eye seemed to catch his eye, if only for a second, then his magical eye stilled and he collapsed on the ground, bleeding freely.

For a moment, everything was silent.

Harry watched as they took him in: dark robes, mask with devil-like horns growing out of the sides, gleaming golden sword hanging at his side.

Harry smiled at the looks on their faces. Eyes wide, then furrowed with anger and then fear once again.

A murmur rose from both the Death Eaters and the Order. _Dark Lord's new prodigy…new heir…who is that?_

The snake hissed in glee, and Harry grinned.

And without warning, hell broke loose.

Despite their apparent fear, the Order still wanted to fight. They charged ahead, firing spells at random and hitting a few stray Death Eaters. Harry smirked; their skill was that of a novice.

Not bothering to send up a Shield Charm at the weak spells they were producing, Harry walked calmly through the battlefield.

"REVEAL YOURSELF!"

Harry turned just in time to see a Death Eater rush at him, attempting to pull off his mask. Dodging lazily, he let the Death Eater fall with a smack to the ground.

"I am a servant of the Dark Lord," said Harry with a slight hiss to his voice, "The fact you do not know who I am is proof that he does not trust you,"

The Death Eater stared up at him in amazement. "But…but the Dark Lord would have told us!" he hissed.

Harry looked closer at the man's face and could tell, even behind the mask it was Jugerson. "Of course he wouldn't have told you," he mocked.

The man's face flushed with anger, but he was forced to abandon it as a Killing Curse flew his way. Harry nimbly dodged.

_The Order's fighting dirty._

Turning, Harry saw someone rushing at him, a look of fear and determination on his young face. For a moment, Harry froze in shock.

_Fred?_

The red hair was unmistakable. Suddenly all Harry could remember was the joke shop and the galleons he gave them and the Marauder's Map-

"CRUCIO!"

The words were torn from his lungs, forced by the snake; Fred was slammed into the wall behind him, screaming and curling up in agony. The cries of his parents were louder than any sound of the battle as they rushed towards their son. Harry felt nothing as he turned away from Fred, clearing the image of the blood-stained face from his mind.

The blood traitor deserved it.

The battle exploded around him; both sides fighting with double the fury than before, and now Harry was ducking and spinning and diving daggers into the hearts of Order members-

"FOR HARRY!" was a battle cry, and Harry nearly laughed out loud at the irony. Spinning around, he spotted Sirius Black at the back row, fighting Rowle.

A little emotion stirred inside him, but Harry flushed it away. Black was as bad as the others, he believed in Muggle rights and them stealing magic…

"_Crucio!" _Harry yelled, pointing his wand at Black then following it by a dagger, but by some miracle Black dodged.

"_Reducto!" _Black yelled, pointing his wand at Harry, who spun around and deflected it with his sword, then launched himself towards his Godfather and tried to cleave him in two.

"_Killer!" _Black screamed in anger, slashing his wand at Harry; Harry parried it easily. Back and forth it went, Black sending spells at him and Harry dodging easily, not tiring at all.

"Where's Harry?!" Black shouted at him, and with a slight disturbance, Harry noticed tears on his cheeks. "WHERE IS HE!"

Harry felt anger as he never had before. Now he claimed to care? Voldemort was the only one who helped him realize his potential, he rescued him from a fate of weakness and eternal servitude.

"Harry no longer lives," spat Harry, green eyes surging with anger, "the boy is dead."

Black's eyes widened.

"NO!" he screamed, and sank to the ground, all fight gone from him. Harry watched in amusement as Black openly sobbed for the godson he claimed to care about.

"_Glad you never raised me," _Harry thought as he aimed a kick at his Godfather's ribs, which Black didn't notice. Harry turned sharply away and was faced, in seconds, by Tonks whose hair was a fiery gold and eyes orange like flames-

Tonks screamed as Harry threw a dagger at her, it missed her by inches…Panting now, Harry ran off into the battlefield and aimed Cruciatus Curses, Slicing Curses and the unspeakable hexes Voldemort had taught him…

Order members fell like flies as Harry spun with his sword and fired curse after curse…wailing in agony, Order members sank to the ground.

"Fred! FRED!"

The screams and sobs of the Weasleys were alien to Harry's ears; he only felt the heat of the battle. Flames licked upon his dragon-skin boots, he looked down and saw that his cloak had become a burning inferno. Fire-proof as it was, it did not harm him.

With the mask of devil-horns and a cloak on fire, the dead and wounded strewn around him, Harry Potter looked every part the devil himself.

Foolish Muggles, stealing magic, they got their just desserts. No one would escape from what they deserved. Harry would make sure of that.

He had not killed today, on his Master's orders, but he would. Voldemort had told Harry it took a lot to kill. Today he only maimed, to maintain an image of Voldemort's power.

Harry heard the screams of the French from inside their government building, shrieking in fear and pain from the debris of the Ministry building, but Harry ignored it.

The Death Eaters stood warily, exhausted from battle. They watched Harry with stricken eyes as his cloak burned, he tucked the daggers into his holster, turned around with a dead calm, and walked from the battlefield, his boots clicking on the blood-soaked cobblestones. The moans of the wounded followed him.

Behind him, the buildings burned, and the battle field, which should have been filled with agony, was deathly silent and still.

* * *

While the Order lay bleeding on the battlefield, Dumbledore was having tea.

It was an ingenious disguise, he thought, posting as a slave buyer. Nott had no idea as he garbled about his newfound positions, the prices he could sell good slaves for, and the list went on and on. Dumbledore pretended to be listening, occasionally taking a sip of his tea. His only interest was the serving girl: Fiona.

She pretended to be mute, obviously afraid of him, but Dumbledore sensed some fire in her. Perhaps it was the way she set his teacup down. Maybe it was even the nasty looks she shot Nott as she left the room. Whatever the case, Dumbledore was positive the girl was not dumb-a testimony that could cost him everything.

"-and there's such high prices on the market, now excuse me, I must take a Floo call," said Nott importantly.

"Of course," said Dumbledore with a smile, his disguised brown eyes twinkling. He looked about fifty years younger, with a mop of brown hair, a mustache, and a wide smile. He pretended to look casually towards Fiona. "May I…have a conversation with your servant?" he asked, accenting _conversation _to mean something else.

Nott grinned, starting towards the door. "Be quick, Mr. Sanders," he said, a nasty grin stretching his face. It gave him the appearance of an overexcited cat, waiting to pounce. "It will only take ten minutes for me to Floo."

_And just enough time, too._ As soon as Nott left the room, Dumbledore spun to the terrified girl and spoke in a hushed voice.

"My dear, I wish I had enough time to explain thoroughly, but I must say only that I am here from the side that wishes to get rid of these men who are keeping you hostage," he said quickly. "We are working every day to try and free you all. However, there is something that Nott has…that I need, and only you can get."

She stared at him, her face losing its fear. Suddenly she looked suspicious. "Why should I trust you?" she demanded.

Dumbledore smiled. "I suppose you might not trust me, but there aren't many options now," he said. "I am deeply ashamed for not being able to explain more fully, but there will come a time when you will know everything." He bit his tongue at the words-how he wished he hadn't said them to a person who was about Fiona's age. Harry Potter. "

He paused. "Do you know of a safe-keeping location here in the building?"

Fiona nodded, eyes wide. "It's where Nott keeps all his secret things," she said.

"It is of utmost importance that I have a necklace down there-a silver one, you can' miss it-I _must _have it," Dumbledore said. "Only you can get down there, because-"

"I'm allowed there for cleaning," Fiona murmured. Then she looked up at Dumbledore. "But what if I'm caught? He probably has security down there or something."

Dumbledore glanced towards the doorway then said, "I've already taken care of it for you. You must retrieve the necklace-carefully, do it while he's sleeping-then bring it back to me. Do not touch it with your bare hands! Meet me outside the porch at noon tomorrow," he said urgently, as footsteps grew closer to the door. "Now-"

The door opened, and Dumbledore pretended to be caressing the girl's face. Fiona gave a good act of looking scared.

"Wonderful," Nott said in approval, and Dumbledore felt his stomach turn. He turned and flopped himself on a sofa. "Bring me some biscuits, girl."

As Dumbledore turned to leave, the girl leaned towards him and urgently whispered, "What is your name?"

Dumbledore turned to her sadly. "Albus Dumbledore," he whispered.

She stared at him with such hope that Dumbledore's heart wrenched. For a moment, he saw Ariana. "Thank you," she whispered.

Dumbledore turned with a knife in his heart. He could not save them all. He only hoped he'd be able to save her.


	11. Hysteria

Thanks for the reviews! Only a couple chapters left of Part 1.

**Chapter 11: Hysteria**

* * *

_Dumbledore stiffened. "Where is Sirius?"_

_Moody's magical eye swerved over to the corner of the kitchen, where Dumbledore could see a hunched figure. "Over there, I expect," snorted Moody. "Probably getting himself smashed."_

* * *

Blood dripped from his hands as Harry walked back into the building he and Voldemort had Apparated in. Voldemort was waiting for him. His cloak showed signs of battle; it was ripped and singed in several places. Voldemort looked over Harry coolly, as if trying to determine something; then he grabbed Harry's and Disapparated.

They landed back into Voldemort's quarters. The small kitchen was emitting good smells of food; since Harry had started his training Voldemort had the House-Elves take over the cooking. A fire burned in the fireplace. Harry breathed in the smells. He was home.

Eying Harry, Voldemort walked around and came to a stop in front of Harry. He still wore the horned mask, his green eyes flickered with the light of the roaring fire.

"You have done well," said Voldemort.

Harry nodded, his eyes blank and glassy.

"_Speak to me…" _Voldemort hissed, his red eyes focused on Harry's scar.

"_Yes, Master." _The hiss came from Harry's mouth, and his eyes went even blanker until they were nearly white.

"_Are you in complete control of the boy?"_

The snake hissed in anger. _"Not quite, my Lord. He loves me, obeys me, and his soul is almost tarnished with mine. However…"_

Voldemort's red eyes danced with fury. _"What is it?"_

"_The boy has a small bit of resistance left in him…part of him loathes my presence, knows what he is doing is wrong…but he is slowly fading," _ the snake hissed back.

Voldemort turned away, calculating. Of course, it was human nature to resist. Humans could adapt to almost anything. Harry, it seemed, had adapted… with the help of the snake's influence and his influence. However, he still had an annoying bit of resistance in him. He would never truly be Voldemort's unless…

"_Snake," _he hissed, "_Tell how I can get young Harry under my complete control."_

The snake hissed in pleasure. _"Of course, Master. This is what you must do…" _

_

* * *

_

Dumbledore left Nott's office, silver necklace in hand.

A sad smile appeared on his face as he thought of Fiona, the fiery blonde-haired girl who had given him the necklace minutes ago. One might have thought that she had pulled off the world's biggest robbery: a big smile was present on her face, and she smirked as she handed Dumbledore the necklace.

His smile faded a little as he stared at the innocent looking necklace in his hand. It twinkled in the sunlight, and was oddly heavy despite its fragile appearance.

Dumbledore knew that in order to truly get rid of the connection between Harry and Voldemort, he had to destroy the necklace. He could do it now, in fact; all he needed was a basilisk fang or Gryffindor's sword. But the necklace was too important now to be destroyed.

Because its magical signature was of both Harry's and Voldemort's, sending Voldemort's soul piece into an object with Harry's signature would be more effective. Instead of simply putting Voldemort's soul into another object and destroying it, the object he would be putting the soul into would have Harry's magical signature, and by destroying it he would truly destroy the last of their connection.

Magic was a strange thing. It was interesting that if you combined two souls and destroyed them together, they could never be truly reconnected. Which is why he would wait to destroy the necklace.

_I'm getting too old for this. _Making a mental note never to lead a rebel organization again, Dumbledore spun on the spot and into Order Headquarters. He hoped to relax in a chair with a glass of whisky, and read some knitting magazines.

Dumbledore never got that chance. As soon as he Apparated into Headquarters, shouts and yells of panic reached his ears. He started as he saw people moaning on cots, couches, and conjured beds.

"What on earth…" Dumbledore breathed, and Molly Weasley came running up to him, hair a mess and wide, panicked eyes.

"Oh Dumbledore!" she half cried, half sobbed. "You're here!"

She took him by the arm and ran him over to a cot in the corner, where several red-heads were crouched. Dumbledore's stomach twisted. He knew this would be bad, he knew something had gone terribly wrong-

"The attack," panted Molly, still dragging him, "Some….some new Death Eater appeared! Wiped us all out!"

Dumbledore's stomach filled with dread. "How many casualties?"

But he was spared the answer to the question as Molly came to a halt in front of a cot. Dumbledore's eyes hardened. Lying prone on the cot was Fred Weasley. He was unconscious, and there was blood leaking from his arm. Several Weasleys were gathered around him, pained expressions on all their faces.

Gently, Dumbledore felt Fred's forehead, then took out his wand and muttered some spells. They did nothing. Deep inside, Dumbledore knew the boy would probably die. He had too much internal bleeding and it had not been stopped soon enough.

"What happened?" he muttered.

"Cruciatus, and that new Death Eater-they're calling him Voldemort's right hand man-threw Fred into a wall," Molly gasped.

Molly grasped Fred's hand as Dumbledore waved his wand, muttering complex spells. Some spells he manipulated based off his knowledge of the boy's injuries.

Suddenly he looked up. "Fawkes!" he cried.

The golden bird had soared through the window, and the Weasleys' cries of glee met him. The phoenix was not longer the beautiful, many-feathered bird of months' past, but only a few golden feathers remained on his otherwise dark body. A disease, invented by Voldemort, had struck him in battle months ago, and Fawkes-who should by all rights be immortal-was slowly dying for good. Every rebirth, Fawkes looked worse and worse.

Dumbledore stared at the little phoenix, who hopped to Fred's side and set a beady eye on Dumbledore. "Can you heal him, Fawkes?" asked Dumbledore gently.

"Please, Fawkes," whispered Bill, "Try."

With a sad little chirp, Fawkes leaned over Fred and a small tear fell from his eye into Fred's mouth. Then, with one last look at Dumbledore he turned and flew away.

"That's the last of his tears," murmured Dumbledore.

On the ground, Fred stirred, and there were several cries of joy.

"Fred!" Molly launched herself at him, for a moment there could be nothing seen of Fred but a bit of orange hair.

"Gentle, Molly," Dumbledore chided. "He needs to recover." But he couldn't help smiling.

Molly reluctantly released her son, tears pouring down her face. "Fred," croaked George, hugging him in turn, "you're alive."

Fred stared at his twin for a long moment, his usually happy face filled with fear. "The devil…" he whispered.

George's face was horrified. "The devil?"

"Right before I fainted…" whispered Fred, "I saw the devil…"

"No worries, bro, it was a Death Eater," said George firmly. "Not the devil."

Fred cracked a lopsided grin. "I suppose I haven't been that bad, then," he said with a grin, and they all chuckled weakly.

Dumbledore, however, stood up and strode over to Mad-Eye, who was laying on a bed with bandages across his chest.

"I'm lucky I had ol' Snape," he growled as Dumbledore approached, "knowing the counter-curse. I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him."

Dumbledore sat down on a chair next to him. "The devil?" he stated blatantly, his blue eyes intense.

Moody groaned, his magical eye rolling back, as if in agony. "A new Death Eater," muttered Moody, and Dumbledore was shocked to hear fear in his voice, "Devil horns and all' that. His cloak caught on fire, made him look like the ruddy Devil himself. Beat the whole lot of us without any effort. Helped that he had the Death Eaters on his side and we were already losing."

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment. He played absently with the small silver necklace in his hand. "Do you have any idea who it might be?" he asked.

Moody shook his head. "No idea. It could've been any of those scum."

"But," he said as Dumbledore opened his mouth, "Amazingly, he didn't kill. He could've killed all of us if he'd wanted to, but he chose not to. He seemed interested in only maiming and torturing us," he snarled.

Dumbledore nodded grimly. Try as he might, he could not think of any Death Eater who would fit the profile. He must be new. "Anything else?" he asked.

Moody looked at the floor. "He told…he told Black that Potter was dead."

Dumbledore stiffened. "Where is Sirius?"

Moody's magical eye swerved over to the corner of the kitchen, where Dumbledore could see a hunched figure. "Over there, I expect," snorted Moody. "Probably getting himself smashed."

Dumbledore got up and swiftly walked over to the kitchen where, sure enough, Sirius was clutching a bottle of Firewhisky.

"Sirius?" asked Dumbledore gently.

Sirius looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. "Harry's dead," he whispered, eyes filled with agony. "Dead…"

"No, he's not, Sirius," said Dumbledore firmly. "That Death Eater lied. Voldemort would never kill Harry unless it was done publically, and he has his reasons for not doing so."

Sirius hiccupped, and threw himself at Dumbledore. Caught unawares, Dumbledore stumbled back as Sirius sobbed into his shoulder.

"Thank you…thank you…"

"It is not me who you must thank, Sirius," said Dumbledore. "Thank Harry, for staying strong."

"Harry's all alone in that prison," said Sirius miserably, "and I left him there. You don't know what it's like," he said, suddenly fierce, "to know no one will rescue you."

Dumbledore patted Sirius's shoulder. "You're right," he said. "But I promise you, we will get him back."

Sirius resumed sobbing, but Dumbledore hardly heard him. The words, _Harry's dead…Harry's dead…_kept on echoing inside his head. What had the Death Eater meant, if not to lie and maim Sirius?

He could take Sirius's agony no longer. Standing up, Dumbledore surveyed the room full of hurt Order fighters. Even from there, he could tell their numbers were few; the Death Eaters had outnumbered them at least four to one in the last battle.

A sudden flash of anger seized him. Turning away from the moans and cries of the injured, Dumbledore strode into the hallway, and out the door. Gripping his wand tightly, he turned on the spot. It was time to strengthen his army.

As he strode up the streets of Paris, the moans of _the devil…the devil…_echoed strangely in his brain.

* * *

"Harry."

"Yes, Master?" It was Saturday, and they were midway through their training session. Harry had taken to knives quite well, and was throwing them at Voldemort as he dodged.

A smartly thrown knife struck Voldemort in the shoulder, and he glared at Harry. Grasping the handle, he yanked the knife out, and healed the cut with a wave of his wand. The blunted knives still made a small wound on impact.

Voldemort had been thinking about the small amount of resistance in Harry. He hadn't been quite sure how to quell it, and immediately his thoughts had turned to the little green potion on Harry's desk. It wouldn't be quite as effective, however, if Harry had taken it out of an order. No….it had to be taken out of anger.

"I think you should visit your friends today."

Eyes wide, Harry dropped the knife he was holding.

"What?"

"You heard me. Go visit your friends, wherever they are. Here-" he plucked a wand off the wall and tossed it to Harry- "this should help you find them."

Harry caught the wand and looked up at Voldemort, his angry and cold expression back. No longer did he show any emotion, he looked like a puppet once again. "Why, Master?"

Voldemort smiled wide. Normally he would rebuke Harry for questioning him, but now was not the time. "I thought it might be…enriching…for you to see your friends for a little while. Now, go."

With a curt nod, Harry strode out the practice room door. Voldemort grinned and called Nagini to him.

"Let the games begin," he said. Nagini hissed in amusement.

As Harry rounded the corner, Voldemort turned away. He grabbed several of his weapons, and Disapparated for his latest raid. He couldn't wait to finally kill that fat German Prime Minister.

Harry wandered the halls in confusion. Why did his Lord and Master want him to interact with those half-breeds and mud-bloods? Surely he didn't want him to torture them, did he? It was against code for a slave to torture other slaves and especially not masters.

"Point Me," he muttered, and the wand spun in the direction of the staircases.

The wand lead him to the fifth floor. He ignored the baffled looks he received from other students and headed down the corridor. Memories came back to him of walking these hallways with the blood traitor, Ron, to class…he shook them away.

He stopped in front of a blank piece of wall. The wand stubbornly pointed forward.

"Where are they?" he said out loud. He couldn't fail his Master. "I need to find them!"

At these words, a door appeared out of nowhere in the wall.

Of course. He had nearly forgotten. The Room of Requirement.

Gripping the handle with sweaty palms, Harry pushed open the door.

Suddenly he was staring into a sea of pale-faced students, all of whom were in dueling pairs. Even though he wore a Devil's mask and was becoming one of the most feared fighters in the country, Harry felt nervous as every eye was suddenly on him.

"Harry?" a voice whispered, and Harry saw a red-haired girl staring at him, eyes wide. Ginny.

"Harry!" the voices were getting louder, now, and there was much exclamation of his name. "Harry!"

Out of nowhere, something whammed into him. His first instinct was to pull out a knife or forcibly detach whatever it was, but he was overwhelmed by a familiar smell and bushy brown hair. "HARRY!"

Then the girl was sobbing, and the blood traitor-Ron-had joined her, and they were both hugging him and crying, and something stirred deep inside his heart.

"You've escaped!"

"You-Know-Who let you out!"

"How did you do it?"

"Where were you?"

"Alright, let him breathe!" shouted Ron, but he was smiling as he let go of Harry. The crowd quieted.

"Oh, how did you do it, Harry?" breathed Hermione, her eyes growing sad as she traced over the collar on his neck. "Did you run away?"

Harry shook his head mutely. It was all too much…the happy faces, their exclamations of glee.

Ron looked at him worriedly. "You don't have to talk, if you don't want to," he said. His voice caught as he took Harry in. "I'm just glad you're back."

"We missed you," muttered Hermione, as she hugged him again.

They led him over to some beanbags in the corner. Harry could hardly breathe. So much was going on at once, and there were so many memories coming back, of Dumbledore's Army, of him leading meetings-

They sat him down, and began telling him things that he did not even fully comprehend.

"This organization is like Dumbledore's Army, but we renamed it to reflect you-"

"No one knows about this, but you've got to make sure You-Know-Who doesn't find out, mate,"

"Have you left the bastard for good?"

"Oh, I suppose you'll have to go back, won't you?"

Harry only nodded in the affirmative or in dissent, watching the others.

Ron and Hermione exchanged worried looks. Finally, Hermione said hesitantly, "Harry…we thought that we'd try to get you out. Maybe during break we can try an escape plan, so…you don't have to suffer anymore."

Harry didn't say anything, he only stared ahead. The snake hissed in anger, and Harry had the fleeting desire to sink his fangs into the girl.

"Well…" she was staring at him, her eyes full of concern, "think about it, okay, Harry?"

Harry said nothing.

After casting Harry a worried glance, Ron stood up."Alright, carry on, carry on!" shouted Ron at the watching students. Muttering, the students turned back to their work. Soon the cries of "Expecto Patronum!" filled the room.

Harry felt no sense of pride in the students for the wispy smoke they produced. Amateurs, he thought dismissively.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione shooting Ron nasty looks as he lectured a first-year for the improper wand movement.

"Hey, Hermione!"

He didn't turn, and it was only with slight surprise he recognized the voice of Dean Thomas. He sat down next to Hermione, and were soon engaged in deep conversation.

Well, he had enough. He had fulfilled his Master's desire for now. Standing up, he crossed the room and left, the door swinging shut with a clang in the now silent room.

"Harry!"

Harry was half way down the corridor when someone called out to him. He turned and came face to face with Ginny Weasley.

She skidded to a halt in front of him. Her long red hair was tangled, and her eyes were filled with tears. "Oh Harry," she blubbered, breaking down, "I'm sorry, I've been such a mess lately…" He said nothing, but waited for her to finish. She looked up at him, fresh tears leaking out of her eyes. "It's just…I don't know what," she choked, "You-Know-Who did to you, but…I wanted you to remember that I was possessed by him once."

Harry's body grew tense. Possession? No, that couldn't be right.

"So," she whispered, and Harry was shocked to see a hand caressing his face. Their eyes met, and she smiled sadly. "If you ever need help with him, I'm here."

Harry shook his head roughly and turned away from her. "I don't need help," he muttered. "The Dark Lord takes care of me."

Blank shock appeared on Ginny's face, for a moment, but she reached out and turned his head back. "That's what you think, now," she said. "Takes care of all your problems, does he?"

Harry yanked himself away from her.

"I don't need your help," he hissed. _Blood traitor's trying to sow the seeds of doubt in my mind._

"Well," said Ginny more sharply, "If you ever want to remember what a real friend is like, or what it is like to be normal…I'll be at the meetings."

She turned on her heel and stomped off. Harry watched her briefly, his confusion growing. Then the familiar anger took hold of him, and he turned away.

As he walked, however, his mind was not on weapons or murders, or even killing Mudbloods, but on the tear-stained face of Ginny Weasley. Suddenly, he felt lonely.

* * *

Now that he was away from Voldemort, the snake in his mind was dimmer, but still there. It hissed in discontent as he headed towards Voldemort's rooms, feeling more alone than he had in months.

"How was your visit?" asked Voldemort, as he lounged in his armchair. Nagini was next to him, and he petted her as one would a dog.

"Fine," answered Harry. In truth, he didn't know the answer to that question himself. The visit had provoked so many old memories and feelings. Ever since then, he kept on thinking of Hermione and Ron sitting together, or his old friends chatting happily. They were petty, trivial things, yet he was thinking about them.

"Found out what you've been missing?" said Voldemort softly, and Harry stiffened as he ran his fingers through his hair. He still hadn't gotten used to that.

Harry didn't answer.

Voldemort chuckled. "Ah, my pet," he said. "I knew that would be hard for you."

There was a moment of silence as Voldemort continued to run his fingers through Harry's hair. Harry looked up at him. His red eyes were narrowed, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Harry knew Voldemort well enough to recognize when something was wrong. "Master?" asked Harry cautiously.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," hissed Voldemort, and his eyes glowed like the coals of the dying fire before him. Harry swallowed instinctively, his mind going blank with rage.

"Who?" he hissed, and he switched over to Parseltongue, "who did it?"

Voldemort's voice grew cold. "Molly Weasley," he growled, "in the battle in Germany. She killed what she thought was a freak," he said, "a Pure-Blood, unworthy in the Order's eyes."

Harry stood up. Voldemort surveyed him closely, but there was delight concealed in his red eyes.

"What do you want me to do, Master?"

Voldemort stood as well, and quick as a flash he grabbed Harry's arm. Harry's angry eyes met Voldemort's, and they were face to face and then Voldemort whispered, "You shall see."

They spun on the spot into everlasting darkness. Harry felt no sickness from Apparating, and no fear.

Smiling to himself, Harry knew that Voldemort would let him have his revenge.


	12. Murderer

Chapter 12: Murderer

_Hope a few bats fly into that mouth of yours, Snivillus._

* * *

"Why should we help you?" croaked Bane, as he looked at Dumbledore with barely concealed disgust.

Dumbledore lifted his head and gazed calmly into Bane's angry eyes. It was difficult not to betray the anxiety growing in his stomach; a decision here could affect hundreds of lives.

"Voldemort is enslaving the human race," said Dumbledore, his voice calm.

Bane laughed harshly, his laugh biting through the cold air. "And you want our help now, human?"

Dumbledore sighed inwardly. It was time to get political. "I did help pass laws to protect centaurs in the old days," he stated calmly.

Ronan snorted, his great legs pawing the ground. "And now what? The new government restricts our every move. We are forced to hide, like common mules," he snarled.

"And what will happen if you do not help?" Dumbledore was trying to be kind, but he could not help the coldness that seeped into his voice. "More will die. You will be even more enslaved than before."

"Think you are wise, are you human?" growled Ronan, his great hooves pawing the ground. "Think you have more perspective than us centaurs? We, human, have great respect for you. But do not forget that centaurs see the planets, and stars…we can tell the future much better than you humans ever could."

"Jupiter dulls by the day," said Bane roughly.

Ronan nodded and turned back to Dumbledore, whose eyes were determined still. After a moment, Ronan sighed. "I see you are not dissuaded," he said. "But tell me, Dumbledore…why should we sacrifice our young centaurs to your war? Let us wait until the battle comes to us; we will deal with the intruders then."

"They will come," said Dumbledore, his voice was hard, "With dementors, giants, and killers. Even with the protection of the forest, you will not stand a chance."

He gazed at the centaurs, they were silent and still, looking at Dumbledore with apprehension.

"If our forces are joined, we all stand a much better chance." Dumbledore spun on his heel and walked away. The centaurs stared after him.

Dumbledore Disapparated and landed on a familiar mountain. Looking down at his feet, he saw a footprint that was the length of two horses. Hagrid and Madame Maxime had been here only two years ago.

Drawing out some Goblin-made items, Dumbledore set off down the mountain.

* * *

Voldemort and Harry landed hard on stone. Voldemort let go of Harry and fixed him with a hard look.

"Do not disappoint me, Harry," he said, looking Harry up and down. After a minute, Voldemort waved his wand once and a mask appeared out of thin air, the familiar devil horns poking up. Harry took it and put it on, and felt the now familiar sense of power. Of radiating fear.

Immediately, Harry tied his cloak tight about him, as to hide the collar. Nodding curtly, Voldemort swung around and began to walk forward, leaving Harry to stare around. He had never seen Voldemort's Headquarters before. Looking around, he felt proud of his Master, and for a minute he forgot about Molly Weasley.

The place was magnificent. Far from being a dusty, dark dungeon, there was light pouring in from tall windows that stretched up towards the sky. The ceiling was high and domed, and covered with a mural that made Harry think of the Renaissance age. An isle runner ran down the hallway, so thin that even clumsy feet could not trip it up. The walls were a deep emerald, lined with paintings of-Harry could only assume-famous witches and wizards.

There were also fireplaces every few feet or so and green flames roared inside their hearths. Harry could see Death Eaters streaming from the fireplaces, all headed after Voldemort. Harry felt a sudden moment of shock; his numbers had at least increased by twenty times.

They stole quick glances at him, all stupidly missing the devil horns. They must have been worried about the meeting, as they all anxiously strode after Voldemort.

Gleams of silver knives caught Harry's eye, and he clenched his fists reflexively, almost in jealousy. He had only seen Death Eaters with wands, and somehow he had thought that Voldemort had taught the art of knives only to him.

Walking forward, he saw out of the corner of his eye a slop of greasy hair. His eyes narrowed and his hand flew to the knife on his belt.

_Greasy bastard. _If only he could drive a knife straight into that greasy bastard's face.

_He is the Grand Master's servant, _the voice said haughtily, _you must respect his decision to trust Snape._

But it was hard to think it, a whirl of his wand and Snape could be flat, twitching on the ground…

Almost as if Harry's angry thoughts had been an alarm, Snape's head swung around and his mouth opened slightly in shock at the sight of the small, pointed horns on the mask. Harry let his mouth curl into a wide grin, then strode forward.

_Hope a few bats fly into that mouth of yours, Snivillus._

But he resisted from saying it; the look on Snape's face was enough for him anyway. As he walked away, Harry realized that taunting Snape…even internally…had made him feel like he was having _fun, _for the first time in months.

Harry reached two high doors that stretched nearly to the ceiling; other Death Eaters were inside, murmuring to themselves. Smiling to himself with the knowledge of the entrance he was about to make, he grasped the handles and pushed the doors open wide.

It had been a long day of knocking on doors and giving gifts. As the sun sank into the heavens and the skies turned purple, Dumbledore finished assuring a young wife that her husband would be safe.

"My dear woman," he said, "your husband will ensure your family's safety by fighting, not by hiding. You are all in less danger if he knows how to duel properly, and we shall cast the appropriate protection charms."

She smiled hesitantly at him, hugging a small child to her chest. "All I can do is trust you, I suppose," she said, then closed the door quietly.

Dumbledore turned, straightened his crooked hat, and walked down the lane. The evening was beautiful, and the grass waved lazily in the wind.

It so happened that he was on the outskirts of Budleigh Babberton. It was the very same village in which Slughorn currently lived. He had gone to see the old Professor earlier to recruit him, and after some persuasion the man had agreed to be recruited. Slughorn wanted protection that only Dumbledore could offer, and he knew it.

Dumbledore popped a Lemon Drop into his mouth, spun on the spot, and Disapparated.

He arrived in the midst of battle. Dumbledore stared around. The room was filled with people. The Order's wands slashed through the air, and there were cries and shouts. Practice duels were going on throughout the magically enhanced room, and Dumbledore estimated that there were no less than a hundred wizards there.

His recruitment, although a bit rough, was going well. It had been difficult journey, rallying up all these people, but mainly successful.

One event caught his eye: Fred and George were behind Moody, and Dumbledore saw a wicked gleam in their eyes.

"Watch it!" roared Moody at the twins, who had sent a Tickling Charm his way.

"Watch what?" asked Fred innocently. The twins turned to each other and cracked identical grins.

A war hasn't stopped those two, thought Dumbledore, walking along to observe the other duels. He could see improvement; more than half of the spells hit their mark on the Offensive dueling side, while defense was improving on the Defensive dueling side.

Several people cried out to him, and he waved at them all.

With a rush of satisfaction, Dumbledore noticed wizards pouring in from the doorways, mostly young men and women. They looked around nervously at all the duelers, several dropping their hats and cloaks onto the floor.

"_Scum! Blood traitors! Planning to uproot the Dark Lord, oh yes, you shall all die!" _screamed the portrait of Mrs. Black.

"Shut it!" snarled a voice, and Dumbledore turned to see Sirius rushing towards the portrait to subdue it.

"_TAINTING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-"_

Sirius ripped the curtains shut, and the last of Mrs. Black's deranged face disappeared. Turning, he saw Dumbledore and smiled sheepishly.

"Still can't stand that old bitch," he growled, for a minute looking like the man who had been in Azkaban for thirteen years. Then he cracked a smile. "What do you think, Albus?"

Dumbledore's eyes danced as he looked around the room. It had been so long since he had been a teacher, yet he had never lost the satisfaction of watching others learn. "I am proud of our efforts," he said. "Our numbers are growing."

"Nearly 200 witches and wizards now," said Sirius, beckoning Dumbledore towards a dirty armchair, and sat down in one himself. He was beaming. "It'll be like the old days, the Order militia, killing Death Eaters and the like. Only this time, we won't get killed."

Sirius summoned some mead out of thin air, offered some to Dumbledore, then poured himself a generous glass. Dumbledore watched him silently.

"James would have been proud," muttered Sirius, and took a mighty gulp of mead. "Seeing us all like this, fighting for his son."

"Yes, he would have," said Dumbledore quietly, watching Sirius. He seemed to be in a strange mood.

"Course, now that we have the centaurs and maybe giants on our side, we'll stand a chance in a battle against Hogwarts."

Dumbledore immediately saw where this was going. "Sirius, we can't be rash-" he began.

Sirius laughed heartily, a laugh caused half by pain and half by the drink and said, "Not _rash, _Headmaster. We'll carefully plan it of course, but with my knowledge from the old days we can penetrate that place no problem. We have the Marauder's Map, that'll be a help."

Dumbledore stood up. The man before him was young, and foolish. "Do not forget the price at which we won the last war," he said, his voice cold. "It was a stroke of luck that Harry vanquished him. We must plan carefully. Mere numbers will not vanquish Voldemort."

He looked at Sirius and noticed with slight irritation that Sirius was staring at a pretty witch near the door. "I shall see you, then," he said, then hurried off towards Moody.

Moody was on the floor, laughing hoarsely as a result of the Tickling Charm. There was a large audience around him with Fred and George at the head.

"Sorry, Headmaster," chuckled Fred, "couldn't help ourselves."

Dumbledore allowed him a kind smile. "We could all use a little more laughter these days," he said, then cast the repelling charm on Moody, who immediately stood up and rushed towards the twins.

"Out….OUT!" roared Moody, Banishing them from the room, and the twin's indigent voices sounded outside the door-"HEY! Let us back in!"

"They can stay there," growled Moody, apparently torn between the desire to laugh and the desire to throttle someone. The scowl on his face grew deeper as he saw Dumbledore looking at him with an amused expression. "What is it, Dumbledore?"

"Snape," said Dumbledore, lowering his voice so the stragglers could not hear, "where is he, Alastor?"

Moody looked concern, but if anything, his scowl deepened further. "At the Death Eater meeting," he said. "Dark Mark burned halfway through our practice today."

"Did he mention why?" Dumbledore asked.

Apparently uninterested, Moody turned back to his duel. "Some initiation thing," he said out of the corner of his mouth. "Something about Bellatrix."

* * *

"Meet…my heir."

The room was silent. Flames leapt in the grand fireplace, the only light in the dark, cold room. The room radiated tension, and every eye was fixed upon the man who strode into the room. He wore a long, ivory cloak, its hood pulled over the man's head. A flash of white appeared as the man grinned, and he lowered the hood.

Some gasped, others cried out. In a room that held an army, it was a strange noise to hear.

The man was none other than the killer at the last Order battle.

It was impossible to tell who he was, but he breathed menace: every step he took seemed to imprint upon the stone floor. Some Death Eaters unconsciously drew back. Voldemort chuckled.

"Yes, yes, you have all seen him before," he jeered. "Formidable, is he not?"

"Yes, m'lord," whispered Avery, his head bowed, and Voldemort laughed.

"Frightened, are you, Avery?" When Avery did not answer, Voldemort extended a few long fingers and touched Avery's Dark Mark. Avery trembled. "I would think so. This man…he has proved useful to me. He shall win the war for us."

No one spoke up to counter Voldemort's statement, and he did not expect them to.

"I have use for him. He shall be the one to murder Bellatrix's killer."

The Death Eaters stirred in anger. Her murder was fresh in their minds, and many looked up with lust in their eyes.

"Why not me, m'lord?" said a voice angrily, and Voldemort turned to see Lucius Malfoy stand up. "I know best how to infiltrate that rat hole they call the Burrow, and I wish to kill the bitch myself-"

"Heir ,show him why I choose you," said Voldemort, the edges of his mouth twisting up in a smile.

Harry stepped forward without hesitation.

"Crucio!"

Lucius fell onto the floor, his eyes bulging from their sockets, his mouth open and screaming – the Death Eaters stepped away, unnerved, as the inhuman screams continued…

And then it stopped. Lucius got to his hands and knees and looked into the murderous face, and for a moment all he saw was the devil horns, lit by the glowing fire of the fireplace…

Wham! He screamed as a knife barely missed his hand. With a wave of the Heir's wand, he flew back and was pinned against the wall. The knife was right next to his hand.

"Please, no…"

Narcissa was screaming, Draco was silent, his mouth dropped open wide. The Death Eaters were stone still.

Voldemort was smiling as another knife flew next to Lucius to the wall, next to his other hand his time. The knives moved at insane speed and just missed their target. A wide smirk was visible from under Harry's mouth.

"You do well, Heir," said Voldemort softly, as Harry gripped yet another knife.

There were four knives, now, one on each arm and each leg. Then Harry took a knife and aimed it straight at Lucius's stomach.

"LUCIUS!" screamed Narcissa, and Lucius closed his eyes, for the end.

He was aware of slight pain as the knife barely pierced his abdomen. A slight trickle of blood ran down his body and collected in the growing pool at his feet. He looked up.

"X marks the spot," the Heir spat.

The Death Eaters were petrified, watching, Narcissa had fallen to the floor in a faint.

"Leave us," snarled Voldemort, and the Death Eaters fled, leaving Lucius Malfoy pinned to the wall, knives dug into him in the shape of an X.

Voldemort turned to Harry, his lip curling. "They will respect you now," he said.

Harry nodded. "Bellatrix," he said shortly.

"Of course, how could I forget, my young Heir?" asked Voldemort, and he put a bony arm around Harry's shoulder. Together they walked towards the fire, where Voldemort sat in a large armchair. Harry stood.

Ignoring Lucius's cries of agony, Voldemort said, "You know that the woman has a daughter at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded.

"She had a crush on you, did she not?"

At this, Lucius squirmed, but Voldemort ignored him.

Harry said nothing, but something glinted in his eyes.

"You must get close to her. Have her invite you over for the holidays – and then…"

"Then I will kill the woman," Harry growled.

Voldemort seemed pleased. "I know you will not fail me," he said softly. Voldemort sighed, then looked over at the wall.

"Now, what are you going to do about him, my young Heir?" Voldemort asked with amusement.

Snape was out of breath by the time he reached Headquarters. He pulled open the door with such force that he nearly fell into the room; he clambered down the hallway into the midst of Order members practicing.

At his unusual entrance, every face turned towards him. Despite his haste, Snape scowled. They were used to him slinking into the room.

"Severus!"

Snape knew what a sight he must be, dripping with sweat and still in his Death Eater robes. The kindly face of Dumbledore drew closer, concerned. He drew Severus over to the corner and offered him a drink. Snape was too shaken to refuse. He took the whisky in one hand and drowned it at once.

He looked up and saw Dumbledore's face watching him. To his chagrin, Moody was there as well.

"Out with it!" he growled, shaking Snape back and forth with gnarled hands. "What did You-Know-Who want this time?"

"Alastor," said Dumbledore, placing a hand on Moody's shoulder. Moody grunted and drew back, still watching with intense eyes.

"…the devil…"

Everyone in the room had been listening, and gasped as they heard the words. Dumbledore's face hardened.

"The killer?" said Dumbledore calmly.

"As merciless as the Dark Lord," said Snape in a whisper. His voice seemed to have gone. "More, in fact…no mercy…no manipulation…no emotion…"

Dumbledore's eyes hardened, and for a moment he seemed an dangerous, old warrior, and suddenly Snape was glad that Dumbledore was on their side.

"Even…the Dark Lord has manipulation and he will…withhold punishment, he is cruel, but the killer…he has no emotion."

"What did he want from the killer, Severus?" asked Dumbledore, but his voice was filled with dread, as if he already knew.

Snape's eyes unconsciously flew to Molly Weasley's, who stood in the corner, her round face filled with anxiety.

"He wants him to kill Molly," he said, his voice raspy. Words failed him, but it did not matter, as someone gasped and Molly burst into tears.

The image of Lucius Malfoy, pinned to the wall and bleeding, surfaced in his brain. And, for once, Snape pitied someone – he looked at Mrs. Weasley with a look that only could be described as pity, and he saw the fear in her eyes for it. And to tell himself the truth, he had never been more afraid for anyone in his life.

* * *

More on Ron and Hermione's situation next chapter. Coming up in the next few chapters: Harry tries to become friends with Ginny, Dumbledore has plans, Snape tries to figure out Harry's weaknesses, and the Order and Harry face off at last...


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